A Strange Thing Happened on my Way to Killing the Archdemon
by dragonmactir
Summary: A strange boy wakes in a strange place with no memory of who he is or where he's from. Set in the city of RABANASTRE in the world of GRAN PULSE, and no, that's not a mistake. Follows absolutely no canon whatsoever. Multiple-crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Just playing in the sandbox, folks: not making any money off of this.

**A/N:** "The Return" and "In a Nearly Perfect World" are me taking fanfiction as seriously as it can be taken. This is just me having a romp. I'm having a little trouble figuring out which part of The Return comes next (the temple of Andraste or an assault on Soldier's Peak with Nathaniel Howe) so I thought I would do a bit of literary doodling to jog my thoughts loose. I still haven't quite made up my mind, but I did end up with a LOT of good ideas for the future of In A Nearly Perfect World. This is my low-priority fic of five (I'm writing two original fictions at the same time I'm juggling all of this: no, I have no life, why do you ask?) so updates may be sporadic. This also follows absolutely no canon whatsoever, and you're as likely to find my unnamed protagonist packing up and heading off to Hogwarts as you are to find him battling Yiazmat and obtaining a dozen espers. If you choose to follow me down the rabbit hole knowing all of this, read on, but don't blame me if you lose your head.

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**Chapter One: A Strange Boy**

A strange boy awoke in a strange place. He could remember nothing of where he was, how he came to be there, or even what his name might be. The only thing he could focus on was the fact that he was cold, he was wet, and he had the point of a spear jabbing into his side.

"Here, you - get out of that fountain! What are you trying to do, take a bath? Heh heh…filthy guttersnipe."

The boy did not know who he was or where he came from, but he knew the voice of a city guard when he heard it. He stood up, and promptly fell off a drop-off. He was indeed in a fountain, quite a deep one, and he treaded water for a moment, sputtering and coughing, before flailing his way to the edge and climbing out. He found himself in a courtyard or city square of sorts, tiled in black slate and red brick, and people were staring at him, some with curled lip and others with laughing eyes.

The guard brandished his spear. "Get along out of it, you - quick, now." The boy got himself along.

Sopping wet and still cold despite the hot sun overhead, the boy walked with head down out of the courtyard through a short, narrow alley. He neither knew nor cared where that would put him, so long as it was away from the guard and the laughter. He found himself in what appeared to be a commercial side-street, with storefronts before which hawkers stood to direct people inside to purchase wares.

A very strange-looking creature - a man? - stood before the nearest storefront. Tall but stooped, the creature wore the clothing of a man but had blue skin and white fur in patches on its long snout and four long ears. By the quality of the clothing, it was not a hawker but more likely a proprietor, and a successful one at that. He saw the boy staring and gestured to him. Not quite willingly, the boy approached.

"By the gods, you're soaking wet, boy! How did you come to this sorry state, eh?" the creature - definitely male - said in a choked, growling voice. In its black eyes were reflected kindness and concern. "Why don't you come inside and sit yourself before my stove to dry? Those clothes of yours look made to stay wet forever. Why on earth are you wearing such garb? You'd think you'd just come in from the snows of the mountains."

Had he? He could not remember mountains, though he was pleased to realize he knew what they were. He allowed the storekeeper to usher him inside and plunk him down in front of a coal-burning stove. The storekeeper brought him a large, dry blanket to wrap himself in and bade him take off his garments from underneath it. Wool socks, leather trousers, and wool shirt came off and were whisked away to be hung on a line in the back garden.

"I'll see if I can't find you some trousers and a shirt to wear while you're waiting for those to dry, my lad. You just sit tight and let Old Migelo take care of you."

Old Migelo. Presumably the storekeeper was Migelo. The boy focused on the name and attempted to fix it immutably in his memory. He still couldn't remember his own name, so it was nice to have one to hang on to.

He made a check of his surroundings. The store appeared to be a greengrocers of sorts, with fresh vegetables in bins and racks of wine, but he also saw tall shelves of bottles and packets that looked to him like an apothecary's wares. There were, too, tables at which people sat on low stools like the one on which he sat. These people were eating, and the food smelled delicious. He felt his stomach grumble longingly.

Migelo returned in short order with a pair of baggy cotton pants and one of his own vests. "Here, lad - these should do you for the time being."

The boy slipped into the trousers while still wrapped in the blanket, and then pulled on the vest. He was quite happy to dispense with the wool. The heat from the stove made the little shop swelteringly hot despite the fact he was still quite damp.

"Thank you kindly, Ser," he said, and made a short bow. When he did so, his stomach made empty noises again. Migelo's four floppy ears perked to the sound.

"What's that? Somebody's calling for lunch!" he said, with a laugh. "I'd be happy enough to feed you, lad, in exchange for a bit of work in the stockroom. Nothing too strenuous, and only for about an hour or so. By that time your clothes should be dry, and you can go home."

Home. Where in the Maker's name was that? Still, work was a concept he remembered very well, and so was hunger. He nodded acquiescence with some eagerness.

"Excellent! You sit right back down, my lad, and I'll get you a plate made up. Won't take but a moment."

Migelo left, and returned in less than half an hour bearing a plate heaped with food. Yellow curds of light, fluffy scrambled eggs, three fat, juicy sausages, a mound of fried hash. In his other hand he carried a tall glass of something golden in color. "Fresh-squeezed papua juice. Grew the fruit myself," Migelo said. "There, now, lad - you eat up, and then come join me in the back room. I'll have work for you to do."

The boy ate, found food and drink delicious, and grateful for the satiation left the selling floor through the same back door Migelo had gone by. He found himself in a narrow stairwell, and walked through the door on the other wall, which turned out to lead to the storeroom. Migelo was busy at a workbench with scales and devices for the rolling of pills, but broke off his work long enough to give the boy some direction.

"I've got some fresh stock on route from Tomaj at the Sandsea, my boy," he said. "I sent another lad to fetch it some time ago - Kytes, his name is, a good chap but a bit flighty. He should have been back before now, but doubtless he met up with some friends and has forgotten all about my poor store. If you could run to the Sandsea for me and fetch back my order I'd be much obliged to you, my boy, and we'll call the meal paid for. Fair?"

"Sounds fair, Ser. More than. I do have a question, however."

"Yes, my lad?"

"Where is this Sandsea?"

"I _thought_ you had the look of someone who wasn't from around here. Do you have a city map?"

"Er…no, Ser."

Migelo began fumbling through the drawers of a roll top desk that stood against the wall. "I've got one around here somewhere. Ah, here we go. The Sandsea Inn - right here, do you see?" He pointed to a green square helpfully labeled "Sandsea Inn." "As you can see, it's just up this street. The road jogs a bit in the middle so it can be a touch confusing for newcomers. You're right here, at the southeastern corner of the city. Just follow the road and you can't miss it. Ask for Tomaj and tell him Migelo sent you. He'll know my order. You can have that map, by the way."

"Thank you, Ser. I'll be back shortly."

The boy bowed again, and returned to the street through the front of the store. He took a moment to study the map and orient himself. Holding the simple piece of parchment felt right, somehow. Though it was but a common city map, plainly done and unadorned, he felt a keen interest in it and the places it disclosed. It sounded in him in an unfathomable way, as if maps were something he lived and breathed.

What was he, a cartographer?

But he was wasting time. He folded away his new map and tucked it into the pocket of his borrowed vest. Barefoot and with damp hair curling on his shoulders, he set off up the busy street. Along his way he saw many humans, some large, fat, pig-like bipeds, and more creatures like Migelo, except the ones he saw on the street were not stooped with age. And he saw…a woman. Tall and slender, with dark skin, light brown hair falling in a cascade past her tiny waist, fine high breasts, and tall, rabbit-like ears. He stood slack-jawed, staring after her, and only managed to shake himself free of the spell she'd put him under when she turned a corner and was lost to sight. Embarrassed, he hurried on with his head down.

He found the inn with no trouble, and spared a glance for the midday diners casually lingering over their meals on the patio tables. Inside, he found a bartender and asked for Tomaj. "Migelo sent me," he said.

"So Kytes didn't tell him, did he, the scamp?" a young, fair-haired man said. "I'm Tomaj: pleasure to meet you, lad. Well, as I told your scatter-brained compatriot, Migelo's goods haven't come in yet. There's a fiend in the Estersand, attacking caravaners, and it's slowed transport from the outpost to a crawl. I've posted a bill for it on the hunt board, but no one's biting. I think it's just too small a mark for most experienced hunters. You look like a strong lad - maybe _you'd _care to give it a go?"

He walked over to a notice board on the back wall and took down a bill. He turned and handed it to the boy. "It's a rogue tomato - just an irritant, really. I'd deal with it myself if I had the time, but my day is pretty full as it is."

The boy felt a strong desire to go out into this "Estersand" and deal with the problem. But…

"I have no weapon, Ser," he said.

"Ah, so I see. And I suppose you've no license for one, either? That means you'd have to have a licensed hunter accompany you. Let me see…Oghren! You're not doing anything except getting drunk, as usual - why not take the lad out for his first hunt?"

Oghren started up from his chair. He was no taller standing than he was sitting: short and stocky and violently red-haired, with a long moustache and a short beard. He hitched up his pants, belched, and said, "Sure, heh-eh. Why not?"

Tomaj reached down and pulled a short dagger from his boot. "This should be good enough to take care of that tomato. Bring it back here to me so I can put it in a salad and I'll give you the posted bounty and a hot meal to be redeemed any time. Oh, and take this, too - it's a Primer. The book will key itself to you and record all your hunts and kills. Kind of like a magical verification pass, so no one doubts your word when you boast of your trophies," he finished with a wink, and handed over a small leather-bound book he took out from behind the bar.

Oghren looked at the book, then at Tomaj. "You sure about that, Tomaj? Kid's awful wet behind the ears, don'tcha think?"

"Oh, I don't know. Got a look to him, he does."

"Yeah? Well, just so long as it's _your _neck Montblanc is ringin' an' not mine."

"It'll be fine. Every great hunter starts out a wet-behind-the-ears kid, am I right?"

"Well, come on, kid - day's a-wastin', an' I got a lot of drinkin' left to do before I call it a night," Oghren said, and gestured for the boy to follow. He did so, not without some misgivings. The drunk seemed hardly a responsible escort.

"Pah, babysittin'. That's what I'm doin'," Oghren grumbled to himself as he led the way back to that first courtyard where stood the fountain the boy had bad memories of. He led the way down a long flight of stairs to a large door set in the eastern wall and nodded to the guard, who opened it for them. A desertscape met the boy's eyes, framed by the tall city wall that lined the road for some yards past the door. Oghren continued on and the boy followed, his stride shortened to accommodate the dwarf's steps. He had ample time to look around. A tall blue crystal of some kind stood off to the right of the flagstone road, and a corral, manned by a small, mouse-like biped, housed great yellow birds wearing bridles.

"Excuse me, Ser - what are those birds?" the boy asked, and Oghren startled.

"What? Don't tell me you ain't never seen a chocobo before!"

"Not that I can remember, Ser. Do people ride them?"

"Lots a' folks do. Not me, though. Damned birds make me itch in places it just ain't right for a body to itch."

He led the way into the sandy dessert arroyos. "Whyn't you whet yer blade on some a' these blasted ankle-biters, kid - they're good practice for a greenhorn," he said, as a small pack of dog-like creatures came yapping and baying on the attack. The boy readied his borrowed dagger. It felt right in his hand, natural. A creature attacked and he killed it with an efficient strike to the throat. The next three creatures fell with similar dispatch. When the area was clear he found Oghren looking up at him strangely.

"You say you ain't got no license board, kid? Ain't never trained before, maybe as a soldier?"

The boy could not remember whether he had or hadn't. It was easier simply to say, "No, Ser."

"Well, either this is one hell of a case of beginner's luck or you've got a lot a' natural talent. Maybe this baby-hunt ain't gonna take as long as I thought."

Oghren took what looked like a brass compass out of his pocket and looked at it. "Oh, I fergot. Here, kid - take a look at this thing. The biggest red dot you see on there is yer Mark."

What a clever device. It showed only a small fraction of the surrounding area, but each creature was marked with a small red dot, and it tracked their movements. "There isn't a big red dot," he said, after a moment.

"Then we gotta go further out. Keep yer eye on the fiend-finder, kid."

They walked further out into the desert. Finally, dead ahead, the boy spotted a dot larger than the others. "There it is - straight ahead of us."

"Well get to gettin', then, baby-hunter," Oghren said. "This is _yer_ rodeo."

The boy walked out onto a small promontory of rock in the sea of sand. Soon enough he could see his mark without the aid of the fiend-finder. It was quite a comical creature altogether, with a head that looked for all the world like a particularly plump, ripe tomato and a tiny, human-like body.

"What in the Maker's name _is _it?" he said.

"A rogue tomato, just like Tomaj said. Granted, they usually stick to the wetlands, but this one's wandered into the desert and now it's makin' a pest of itself. Kill it so we can get out a' here. Careful of the fire-breath."

The boy approached the creature, which turned to stare him down - or it looked like that was what it was doing. He could not, actually, see any eyes; only a gaping, toothy mouth. He stared back at it for a moment and wondered what the fuss was about and why caravaners required help in dealing with the creature, and it was a moment too long. The mouth opened wider, and a sudden flame erupted from it and set his cotton trousers on fire. With a startled oath, he struck out with Tomaj's dagger and plunged it straight down into the top of the creature's head, which killed it instantly. He then proceeded to beat out the flames on his borrowed, baggy pants.

Oghren laughed at him. "Ha ha! Singed yer knickers, didn't he, boy? I tol' ya to be careful. Still, not bad work, I gotta tell ya. You might make a hunter yet."

"These are Migelo's pants," the boy said, with a blush. "I wonder how I'm going to pay him back for ruining them."

"Oh, haw haw haw!" Oghren laughed uproariously. "Well, that's the funniest thing I've heard in a dog's age, kid. Migelo's pants! Haw haw haw!"

Oghren calmed down and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Well, come on, kid - time to see Tomaj about yer bounty, an' then I guess you gotta go talk to Ol' Migelo about his pants. Tee hee hee."

Oghren snickered to himself all the way back through the city to the Sandsea. The boy found Tomaj and presented him with his dagger and the corpse of the rogue tomato.

"Didn't I tell you, Oghren? The boy's a natural. Well, here's your bounty, my boy. Three hundred gil, two healing potions, and a teleport stone, as posted, and you can redeem that hot meal any time you like. I told Migelo what you were up to so he wouldn't worry - you can go and tell him that with that beastie gone, his goods should be in shortly."

"What's yer name, kid?" Oghren asked, and the boy blushed brilliant red.

"I don't know, Ser," he said, and left the inn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: A Mysterious Boy**

He was a lucky boy, all things considered. When he discovered that the boy remembered neither name nor home, Migelo gave him a place to stay. Made a bed for him in his stockroom, gave him work running errands to pay for his meals. "Just until you remember, my boy, or until someone comes looking for you." The apothecer made up flyers with a sketch of the boy on them and posted them all over the city. After three months, they had to concede that no one was going to lay claim to him.

"You can stay here, lad, as long as you need," Migelo said. "If you want to lay some gil aside, there's plenty of work in this city for a strong, strapping boy like yourself, and I'd see my way to paying you for as much as you do for me around here. But after that foolish hunt Tomaj sent you on, I expect you want more adventuresome work than sweeping floors and running errands."

To that end, Migelo explained, he would need a licensing board. To get one, with no name and no origins, he needed Migelo's sworn affidavit that he was the storekeeper's ward.

"Are you _certain_ you can't remember your name, my boy?" Migelo asked him, for the hundredth time. The boy had been working on it, and thought he might have finally come up with something.

"Maric," he said, very slowly and uncertainly. It didn't sound right - it didn't _feel_ right - but that was the only name his tortured brain had come up with after three long months of searching.

"Maric! That's a good, strong name, my boy. Finally, the mists are clearing, eh? Maybe we'll be able to get you home soon, after all. That will be good, though I confess I'd miss you. You've been a good helper and good company these past months."

The boy shook his head, troubled he knew not why, knowing somehow that it was not the right name, but when he was taken to the city registrar's offices and Migelo swore out his affidavit, "Maric fon Rabanastre" was the name at the top of the identification card he was issued.

He'd learned much in those three months of near-fruitless searching. He learned about his new home, the city of Rabanastre, and he learned a bit about the world it lay in, which was called Gran Pulse. A vast land, mostly untamed, teeming with fiends that someone always was begging to have hunted. The life of a hunter held infinite appeal to the boy Maric. It felt…familiar.

Rabanastre was home to many races of people. There were bangaa, like Migelo. Fat, pig-like seeq. Humans by the score. Elves, dwarves, moogles, and even a few viera who, evidently, were all drool-worthy women with dark skin and rabbit-like ears. There were a dozen other races he'd not yet learned the names of. All lived with no clear lines of separation in this one walled city. It was astonishing to the boy, though he wasn't certain why.

Newly-issued identification in hand, the boy was taken to the licensing bureau for registration. He was issued a strange card on which were numerous blank boxes. The licenser explained its purpose.

"Each fiend killed is worth x-amount of points," the man said. "Most are only worth one, but special marks and rare game can be worth a bundle of points. There's even specially-enchanted equipment you can purchase and use - once you have the license for it - that makes every fiend you kill worth _twice_ the points. Right now you've got just your three basic license boxes, the starter squares, if you will. That means right now you can equip mythril swords or blades, leather armor, and you're licensed to use a basic spell of healing. You'll have to purchase those things from the appropriate licensed vendor to use them. Each time you purchase a new license box all other license boxes immediately adjacent become available to you for purchase. It's not recommended that you go hog-wild buying license boxes; hold back your points until you need them. If you want a tip? Aim for the augmentation blocks, which start here below your cure spell block. They unlock enchantments that will be active on you as long as you have your licensing board with you. A big boost to your strengths and skills, particularly when you're just starting out, and you don't have to be a trained spell caster to use them."

Magic was taken so matter-of-factly in this world. It was amazing to the boy, who viewed magic with some suspicion. Certainly it made life quite convenient, but it seemed so very dangerous to him, somehow.

The boy's three hundred-gil reward had gone to clothe him in weather-appropriate attire, and to purchase a new pair of cotton pants for Migelo despite the storekeeper's objections. There was nothing left with which to outfit himself for a career as a hunter. Migelo told him not to worry about it.

"I did just adopt you, more or less," Migelo said. "I'll take care of it, my boy."

The boy protested. Strenuously. He already felt beholden to the storekeeper, he did not wish to incur more debt. Finally Migelo compromised. He would purchase the basic equipment the boy needed, and the boy would pay him back as he had the gil for it.

"Why don't you talk to Tomaj again, my boy?" Migelo said. "He keeps the hunt board, you know, and perhaps he has some nice, easy bounties for you to cut your teeth on."

And so one afternoon after his chores were done the boy went back to the Sandsea Inn to speak to the young proprietor. He found red-headed Oghren there at the same table near the hunt board.

"Hey, kid. Wondered when we'd be seein' you here again," he said. "Figure out your name, yet? Haw, haw, haw!"

He showed the drunk his identification card. "Maric fon Rabanastre, eh?" Oghren said. "'Cept you ain't _fon_ Rabanastre, or I'm a red-butted monkey's uncle. Name's Maric, though, eh?"

The boy shook his head. "That's the only name I can remember so far, but I don't think it's mine."

Oghren laughed his chesty laugh. "Kid, you're too much."

"Oghren, be nice. The boy probably fell from the sky continent. They say you don't die, you just forget everything you ever knew," Tomaj said, as he came out from behind the bar.

"He don't look Bhujerban to me," Oghren said, and knocked back his mug of ale in a gulp. "Don't talk like one of 'em, either."

Tomaj ignored him. "If Maric isn't your name, can you remember who this Maric is?" he asked.

The boy tried. "All I can remember is…yellow hair," he said, defeated. He tugged the end of one of his own long black tresses. "This isn't yellow, is it?"

"No, my lad, that it is not," Tomaj said. "Still, it must be nice to have _some_ name to go by, eh? The things we take for granted. I see a sword at your belt: got your licensing board, did you?"

"Yes, Ser. I was hoping you might have some easy marks posted. I have to pay Migelo back for my equipment."

"Ha! That doesn't sound much like the Migelo I know. I bet repayment was _your _idea, wasn't it, lad?"

"That it was, Ser."

"That's what I figured. Migelo would happily bend over backward for a poor kid with no means, and frequently does. Well, let's see what's on the board, shall we?"

Tomaj stepped up to the hunt board. He scanned the listings and finally he seemed to find one he liked. "Here: why not take a hand to this one? It's been up here for a few days now. Another mark the professionals think beneath them. You'll have to talk to the petitioner to sign on to it officially, though. And that happens to be that fellow sitting over there."

He pointed out a man in a green vest and a white turban who sat dejectedly on the floor near the door. The boy went over to him, holding the bill. "Pardon me, Ser, but you posted a bounty for this…thextera?" he said.

"You're a hunter? Really? Thank the gods!" the man said, eyes wide. "I was starting to think no one would kill the blasted thing for me. It's ruining my business! Ruining me!"

"Calm down, Ser, and tell me about this creature. What is it and where do I find it?" the boy asked.

"Its in the Westersand, and it's been spotted not far from the road into town. A giant, mutant wolf. Ugliest thing you've ever laid eyes on. Kill it for me or drive it away, I don't care which. Just stop it from disrupting my caravans!"

"It will be done, Ser," the boy said, and made a short bow. He headed out into the city and made for the southern plaza. If the Estersand lay outside the eastern gate, then it made sense to him to think the Westersand lay opposite, so he headed down the long stairs on the west side of the plaza.

Outside he found a courtyard much like the one on the other side of the eastern gate. There was another moogle renting out riding chocobos from a corral, there was another tall, blue crystal, there was another desertscape framed by the tall city walls. He did not have a fiend-finder to guide him, so he followed the twisting track of the road while his eyes scanned for sign. Several small wolves attacked him, and he dispatched them swiftly and efficiently. He left the corpses laying where they fell: he would skin them out for the pelts once his main task was done.

He found pug-marks, the tracks of an enormous wolf. He followed them, and soon found a pile of scat larger than his head. This mark was_ beneath _the professional hunters? He had an idea he was tracking a real monster. The feces was quite fresh. He moved stealthily and wished for a bow. There was a license box for one next to the box for his sword: next purchase, once he'd paid off his debt to Migelo.

He found the thextera beyond a small rise. It was huge, standing as tall at the shoulder as he did. Bright yellow on top, brilliant blue beneath, with red skin folds along the sides of its belly and on its head, it was indeed the ugliest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

He marshaled his position carefully, and then let out a mighty roar. It drew the creature's attention, and then it drew the creature. He met its rush with his blade up, and laid its shoulder open to the bone in a blow. The animal faltered, stumbled, rolled, recovered. Jaws snapped for him but he was already moving, circling to land a telling blow to the vitals. The animal was swift, even injured, and circled away from him. It darted in to bite him and he punched it squarely on the snout with a left hook. It yelped and shook its head, dazed, and he stabbed it in the side in what he hoped was a vital area. Blood streamed from the wound and the creature whined like a whipped puppy.

And then it did something incredible. It tucked itself in low to the ground, head lowered between its paws, and wagged its tail. Instead of following through with the killing blow as he'd intended, the boy's arm faltered. The creature saw and gave a soft yip, then attempted to lick his face. It rolled over onto its back, let its paws dangle limply in the air, and rolled its long red tongue out of its mouth. The tail continued to wag. The boy lowered his sword.

Migelo had purchased for him a scroll of basic healing magic and made him learn the spell. He cast the spell upon the thextera, and its wounds knit immediately. The animal barked and licked his face again. The boy reached out and scratched behind its webbed ears.

"Well, the man did just say to stop you disrupting his caravans," the boy said to the thextera. "Do you reckon you can stop raising a ruckus, or do I have to finish this the hard way?"

The animal barked again. It sounded like an affirmative. "All right, then," the boy said, and started back for the city. The thextera followed him. He pretended not to notice. It made for one hellaciously ugly dog, but he liked the idea of having a dog. It felt right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: A Boy and His Dog**

"Giving up already? I expected better of you, bo - " Tomaj's words died in his throat when the thextera sauntered into the inn behind the boy. "Odds bodkins."

"That's exactly what the guard at the west gate said," the boy said. "And at least a dozen passersby on the way here."

Tomaj chuckled as he shook his head. "If someone had told me of it I'd have said they were mad. That's quite a monster you've tamed, there. A good companion for a hunter, and no doubt about it."

The boy went over to the man who'd petitioned the hunt. This worthy individual was staring wide-eyed at the thextera. "I don't think my friend will be bothering your caravans any longer, Ser," the boy said.

The man startled out of his fixed stare. "Oh! Yes, I…I owe you a bounty, don't I? Here you go, lad - use it in good health, and thank you. Stop by my stall in the bazaar and I'll give you a discount."

"What are y' gonna name yer dog, kid?" Oghren asked.

"I think his name must be Odds Bodkins, but I'll just call him Odd."

"You'd better get to workin' on yer huntin' credentials right quick, 'cause it's gonna cost ya a helluva lot t' feed 'im if you don't."

"I can help you with that, lad," Tomaj said. "Do you still have the Primer I gave you?"

The boy pulled it out of his vest pocket and held it up.

"Excellent. You see the mark on the cover? Now, in the north end of town there's a building with a sign out front that bears this same mark. Show your Primer to the bangaa in front of the door and he'll let you in."

Oghren climbed down out of his chair. "I think I'm gonna head that direction myself. Wanna be in position to see Montblanc shit himself when this wet-behind-the-ears kid comes sauntering in with a _thextera_ at his heels!"

"I'll go there, Ser, but first to the furrier to sell these pelts I took. Thank you, Ser - good day."

Boy and wolf left the inn and walked together to the Muthru Bazaar, a narrow back alley where open-air merchants hawked their wares. He found the furrier's booth, where a hard-eyed man sold crafted goods and bought raw pelts. "Don't buy from children," this man said as the boy approached. "More work than it's worth, trying to repair the damage you infants do in your skinning."

The boy laid his pelts on the man's counter. "Look at these and tell me they're damaged," he said.

The man looked. He picked up a pelt and inspected it closely. "Nice even thickness, no tearing, scarcely an ounce of meat to clean away. Excellently done, I will confess. You did these yourself?"

"Aye, Ser."

"You've been apprenticed to a hunter, or a tanner, have you?"

"Not…no, Ser."

"Well, you must have more experience than it would seem, lad. I'll purchase these and any more you can bring me, and happy to. Let me write you out a bill of sale."

The man wrote out a check and handed it over along with a handful of bright silver coins. The boy thanked him politely, deposited his coins securely in his belt pouch, and walked back the way he'd come. The thextera, Odd, nudged its big head under his arm to be petted.

The boy scratched Odd's ears while with his other hand he drew his Primer out of his vest pocket again. He checked the mark on the cover and memorized its shape: a circle aflame, with crossed swords through it, and an open eye in the middle of it all. During his stay in Rabanastre he'd spent the least time in the north end of the city, which was rather more high-end than he was comfortable with. He did not know of a building with that mark on a sign out front but he doubted it would be difficult to find, particularly if there was a seven-foot bangaa before the door.

The building was, as it turned out, right at the top of the stairs that led out of the bazaar on the north end of the street. The boy did not know what to say to the bangaa at the door, so he merely held up his book.

The bangaa sniffed the air. The boy had noticed previously that they seemed to have poor eyesight, when they could see at all. "Ah, fresh fish, I see. Well, head on in, if you're going. Pay your respects to Montblanc," the bangaa said.

The boy walked inside, and immediately wished he hadn't. He stood, in his plain, peasant's garb, beside his dog of many colors, and looked at a nobleman's paradise. Everything was cool, high-polished marble, and in the gallery above a band of minstrels played. Still, the place was crowded, and few of the people lounging about were dressed any better than himself.

One notable exception was a white moogle in a green velvet doublet who stood perched precariously on the second-floor railing. The boy was momentarily afraid for the creature's safety until he remembered having seen moogles hovering in mid-air, flapping their tiny wings for all they were worth. He relaxed.

He heard a familiar loud, beery laugh. "Haw, haw, haw! There he is! Hey, boy - welcome to Clan Centurio! Haw haw, go on up and make yer bows to Montblanc, kid."

The boy was happy enough to see a friendly face in the sea of stranger's eyes. "What is this place?" he asked.

"It's a hunt club! All of us here are hunters, kid - we gather to learn about the hottest marks and swap bullshit stories and drink. Now go and talk to Montblanc. Can't be a member 'less you get the Big Man's okay."

"Which is Montblanc?" the boy asked.

"That one, right up there," Oghren said, and pointed up at the second floor.

"Where? Behind the moogle?"

Oghren smacked him on the chest. "Naw, he _is _the moogle. Go on up and say howdy, kid."

The boy climbed the stairs, Odds Bodkins at his heels, and went to greet Clan Centurio's "Big Man," who stood not more than two feet tall to the top of his pom-pom. The little creature turned to look at him, and made that strange, squeaky "Kupo" sound the boy had already come to know.

"Er…hello, Montblanc, Ser," the boy said. "I was told to pay my respects."

"Hello, my lad," the moogle said in its tiny voice. "And what might your name be, Kupo?"

"It's…it's _Maric, _Ser."

"Is it, Kupo? You don't sound so sure."

The boy blushed, startled and shamefaced. "I'm not sure, Ser. But it's the only name I can remember right now."

The moogle looked at the thextera. "And what is your friend's name, Kupo?"

"Odd," the boy said.

"He certainly is that. You tamed him yourself, Kupo? That's quite a feat for one so young. I expect it happened accidentally?"

"Yes. I was hunting him, and he submitted."

"That means you must have destroyed his Feral gland. You stabbed him below the left foreleg, Kupo?"

"Yes."

"That's where the gland is, in wolves. You've done well for a green hunter, Kupo. You may have the makings of a Tamer, with training. What do you think, Fang?"

"Yeah, with training, he might not be so bad." A tall, dark-haired woman with striking features climbed to her feet from where she sat on the top step. "That kind a' skill set don't come cheap, though."

"You are here to join our club, Kupo, are you not?" Montblanc asked the boy. "We would supply you with mentors to help you build your skills as both a hunter _and_ a tamer, if you wished to learn the arts, Kupo."

"I…did not know there _was_ such a club, Ser. Tomaj at the Sandsea told me I would find assistance here, and if you can help me get situated I would be quite happy to become a member."

"Not so fast, Kupo. First you have to pass the entrance examination. We have very strict standards, Kupo, and…you pass! Moogles make up their minds quickly. Now, let's see…mentors, mentors, mentors…"

Montblanc cast eyes over the assembled hunters. "Oghren, you haven't mentored anyone in a long time. Why don't you take young Maric under your wing, Kupo?"

Oghren belched, groaned, and shrugged. "Sure, I don't mind. Kid ain't half as annoying as _most _of these whippersnappers."

"Excellent, Kupo. Fang, would you be willing to teach Maric the ropes of Taming?"

"Eh, why not? It's not like I have a fancy dress party to go to. And having another Tamer around would be nice. Maybe we could work together and tame ourselves a Kaiser behemoth or the like, someday."

"_That'd _be a sight to see," Oghren said.

"How 'bout it, Kid?" Fang asked. "You stick with the dwarf an' me, we'll have you hitting well above your weight class in no time. Sound good?"

"Sounds fine, Ser."

"_Sir?" _The woman laughed, though she sounded honestly affronted. "In case you can't tell, Kid, I'm not a man."

The boy was flustered. "I - I'm sorry, Se - I mean, Ma'am. I thought _everybody_ was called 'Ser,' respectfully."

"Don't know where you'd pick up a funny notion like that. An' don't call me 'Ma'am,' either. Makes me feel old. Just call me Fang."

"Er, yes, Ma'am. I mean, yes, Fang."

"Let's have a look at your Primer, and see what you've got under your belt already," she said, and snatched the book out of his hands. "Hmm. Still green, but we'll work on that. I've got a hunt lined up that ought to be a nice test of your skills. Flowering Cactoid. Ridiculous-looking critter but more dangerous than you'd think. You'll have to be on your toes, boy."

"I'm ready…Fang."

"Good. Meet Oghren an' me here at the club tomorrow morning bright and early, and we'll head out into the Estersand to deal with the little menace."

"I'll be here. If you'll excuse me, I should be getting back to Migelo's. It was nice making your acquaintance. Come on, Odd."

The boy bowed, and boy and dog walked down the stairs and out of the building.

"Nice kid," Fang said, as she watched him leave. "Peculiar, but nice."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: A Boy, A Dream, An Unbidden Memory**

The unnatural darkness was oppressive, as the unnatural always is. The foul stench of darkspawn filled his nostrils and his blood thrilled unpleasantly to their proximity. In his head: the voice of the dragon, distant and incomprehensible, but obdurate. It was not dead, merely downed, and it was up to a Grey Warden to make that final killing blow. It was up to him. He snatched up a fallen greatsword and rushed the creature, roaring his final battle cry. He sliced down the length of its throat, then plunged the blade down through its skull with every ounce of his strength. There was light, blinding, painfully beautiful, and then…and then…

And then the boy woke up, drenched in a cold sweat. Odd whined at him, concerned. He reached out and touched the wolf's head to reassure himself that the vivid dream was not his reality. As he pushed the terrible nightmare from his mind he was forced to a realization: perhaps he did not remember who he was because he did not _wish_ to remember.

There was no going back to sleep. He rose, folded away his blanket on top of his straw pallet, and dressed for the day.

The sun was not yet fully above the horizon when he arrived at the Clan Hall. He stood outside and waited until his new friends arrived.

"Well, ain't _you_ the eager little beaver?" Oghren said as he approached. Fang stuck out her hand for a shake.

"I do like punctuality," she said as they shook. "You ready for this?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I mean, yes, Fang."

"Good. Let's be off, then."

She led the way to the east gate, and out into the courtyard beyond. "A moment, if you will," she said, as she turned and walked backwards for a few paces. She gestured to the large blue crystal. "I want to be sure you're aware of the Gate Crystals. Do you know about them?"

"No, Ma'am. I mean, no, Fang."

"Gate Crystals are made out of magicite. The blue ones like this will restore you and heal minor wounds. The _orange_ ones, like they've got at South Gate, now _those_ are special. They act as restoratives as well as teleporters. Do you have any teleport stones?"

"A couple. Tomaj and that fellow Gatsley gave them to me after I completed their hunts."

"Now, if you touch an orange gate crystal it will remember you for the rest of your life. If you fuse one of your teleport stones to an orange crystal you can teleport instantly to any other orange gate crystal you've ever touched. You might want to check it out: it might trigger some memories for you, when you see the places you've been. Maybe you've touched the Bhujerba gate crystal, for instance. That would be a good indicator that you're from the sky continent. At the very least, it tells you you've been there. Maybe falling off is what caused your amnesia."

"What is a 'sky continent,' if I might ask?" the boy said. Fang laughed.

"It's exactly what it sounds like, kid - a continent of land that hangs in the sky. It's the magicite, makes it airborne. Bhujerba's got a big mine of the stuff, used for skystones to make airships fly. Maybe some day we can take you up in an airship and let you see the place. It's quite a sight, particularly the Marquis' palace. Big swooping wings of magicite stand over it."

"It sounds like lyrium," the boy said, and then his face blanched. "I don't know what lyrium is."

"You are one peculiar kid," Fang said. "Come on: I'd like to bag this walking cactus and see what it is you're made of."

They walked out into the Estersand, where Odd's massive, colorful presence kept the local wolves at bay. Not far from where the boy had fought the rogue tomato they cautiously passed a gigantic, lizard-like creature with two powerful hindlegs, tiny, useless forelimbs, and a massive, toothy head that could eat Odd in a gulp. "Easy, now," Oghren said as they neared it. "A tempting target, I know, but a bit out of your league, boy. Best to walk softly. It don't bother no one that don't bother it."

"What in the Maker's holy name _is_ it?" the boy said in a fervent whisper.

"Wild saurian," Fang said. "This one's pretty tame, like the dwarf said. Most of 'em, you don't want to walk too near. Use you for a toothpick, kid."

They passed behind an outcropping of rock and the creature was lost to sight. Fang led them on to a small outpost in a narrow fissure between the high rock cliffs. She took a small slip of parchment out of her belt pouch and read it. "Petitioner's a fellow named Dantro, supposed to be here. We'll talk to him, let him know we're on the job, and hear if he knows anything more about this mark we're after. I bet that's him there."

She nodded toward a man who sat on a stack of crates in the middle of the area. He was talking to a large blue seeq. "'Scuse me, Mister," Fang said. "You Dantro? We're from Clan Centurio. You posted a bounty for a flowering cactoid?"

"Thank all the gods in the pantheon," Dantro said. "That I am, and that I did. This damned thing has got to go. Why, this seeq here just had a run-in with it, poor bugger. All his things, everywhere needles. It's out in the Yardang Labynth. You kill that bugger and take the flower to my wife in the Estersand Village to stew up as an unguent for this sick traveler she's tending, and I'll give you your bounty and my gratitude to go along with it. I'd do it myself, but I'm stuck here posting sentry duty."

"It will be done, Sir," Fang said. She gestured to her companions. "Come on. Let's not waste time about this, eh?"

She led them out the east end of the outpost and into the Yardang. "I had hoped this could be a taming scenario," she said, "but the petitioner needs it killed. That's okay, though - there's plenty of lesser cactoids running about here and there, a great opportunity to start learning how to tame. Cactoids are low-maintenance critters; just give 'em a bit of water now and then and they're fine. We'll take care of Dantro's beastie, get our reward, and then I'll teach you how to tame one."

Oghren pulled out his clever brass Fiend Finder. "Here, kid - be the navigator. Track this critter down."

The boy looked at the device and walked further into the Yardang. "Nothing yet. Let's keep moving," he said. The hunters followed him.

"It's easy to lose your bearings in the Yardang," Fang said. "Keep your wits about you."

Finally, the boy spotted a red dot larger than the others. "I've got it. This way."

The creature was a comical beast, like the rogue tomato, but after his scorching experience with that fiend the boy wasn't prepared to discount the little walking cactus as "harmless." Odd gave a low, throbbing growl when he saw it, which raised the boy's guard further still.

"Careful now," Fang cautioned in a near-whisper. "If it gets a bead on you, it'll fill you so full of needles you'll wish you'd never been born. Move quick, move silent, and strike hard. You'll only get one shot at it; if you fell the beast, you get the reward. If the dwarf and I have to come in and handle it, you get nothing."

The boy nodded understanding, drew his short sword and prepared himself. The cactoid, jaunty flower bobbing gaily in the light breeze, did not see them crouching behind their rock outcropping. He carefully moved into position to launch an attack. As he left the security of the sandstone and stepped still undetected into the clear, something terrible happened.

Oghren farted.

The smell was horrible, the sound was horri_fying_. The cactoid turned, shrieked in anger, and released a jet of needles that stuck in the boy's face, chest, arms, legs, and groin. Fang swore and vaulted over the outcropping. At the same moment the boy let out a roar of pure rage and launched himself at the flowering cactoid. Before Fang could bring her bladed lance to bear, the cactoid was dead on the boy's short sword.

"Ha haw haw haw!" Oghren laughed, and slapped his hands on his thighs. "I told ya the kid was somethin' else, didn't I, Fang? Ha haw haw haw!"

"Oghren! You did that on _purpose?" _Fang demanded, as she put up her lance. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder and began pulling needles out of his face. "Here, now, hold still."

"Oh, come on - gettin' a face full a' needles is just a rite of passage for a hunter, ain't it? An' he didn't let it stop him. Kid's a regular warrior."

Fang frowned horribly, but her expression mitigated slightly after a moment. "That was pretty impressive, to tell the truth," she said. "A lot of _seasoned_ hunters I know would lay down and cry if they took as many needles as this."

Oghren came over and started yanking out needles, too. "Let's get the kid unstuck. Them needles he took in his junk have got to hurt like hell."

It took quite a bit of work, but eventually they had every needle they could get hold of out of him. There were a few broken points still stuck in his flesh but he claimed he could continue on regardless. Fang cast a spell of healing to soothe the pain, and then showed him how to dress out his kill.

"Dantro just wants the flower," she said, "but there's plenty you can get out of the rest of this critter. Cactoid meat isn't exactly edible - some of it is safe, but a lot of it will make you very loopy if you eat it. Brewers like it just fine, though, and they'll pay good money for a potent variety like this. If you're ever lost in the desert, the meat of the _safe_ cactoids - the barrel cactoids, mostly - will keep you from dying of thirst."

She straightened up and stood, bright red flower in hand. "Dantro said to take this to his wife in Estersand Village. That's just ahead a ways, on the banks of the Nebra River. There's likely a bit of extra swag in it for us, so let's head that way."

She took the lead and brought them through the Yardang and down the open desert to the banks of the Nebra River. Surprisingly, there was almost as little vegetation there as the rest of the Estersand, and the boy looked at the water doubtfully. It seemed clear and clean, but evidently there was something wrong with it. Alkaline, most likely.

They found the village, and an elder of it. "Excuse me, Sir, but we've been told to bring this cactus flower to the wife of Dantro. Could you tell us where to find her?" Fang said.

The elder pointed silently to a hut near the river. A woman stood in the doorway. She saw them looking and waved. "Thank you, Sir," Fang said, and they proceeded on. The woman was quite happy to receive the cactus flower, and presented them with a few coins in appreciation. Fang handed them to the boy.

"Here you go, kid," she said. "Your kill, your reward. Now let's go tame you a cactoid, and then we'll see Dantro about that bounty."

As she led the way back to the Yardang Labynth, where cactoids were common, she pointed out a few fat, rolling birds as they passed. "Cockatrice," she said. "Not the turn-you-to-stone kind, that's a dragon. You're probably tough enough to take this kind on, and I know Migelo always has a few gil for anyone who brings him wild cockatrice meat. The feathers are worth some small change, too, at the bazaar. And sometimes you can find odd treasures in their crops. There's always gil to be had for a lad with a strong sword arm."

"I'm hoping to earn enough to get my own lodgings," the boy admitted. "Migelo is very kind to me, but I think Odd takes up a little too much space in his storeroom at night."

"And that's only going to get worse as you tame more creatures," Fang said. "Curb your enthusiasm for the fine art of taming until you've earned enough to set yourself up in good style. I don't think it'll take too long for you to earn enough to rent or even buy a little place of your own. I can show you the best deals on equipment and spells. Sometimes the best place to get the best gear is in the little out of the way places you wouldn't expect to find it. Oghren can help you find a sponsor, I'd bet."

"What's a sponsor?" the boy asked.

Oghren answered. "Someone who invests in a hunter. They pay to kit you out in exchange for a percentage of your future earnings. It's a decent way to make a strong start, _if_ you can get a good deal. I can make sure you do. In fact, I think I know a guy who'd be interested. Fella named Varric."

"Remind me to give you some tips on licensing later," Fang said. "Sometimes it's a bit overwhelming, trying to outfit yourself well with only a beginner's points. I'll help you out in setting priorities."

"I'd like to get a bow," the boy said. "Some fiends I'd rather take down from a distance. Flowering cactoids, for instance."

"Bows are great but they require an awful lot of training," Fang said. "I'd recommend aiming to license a crossbow or a rifle instead. It'll take you longer to earn the points but they're much easier to learn."

"What's a rifle?"

"It's a confounded metal tube with a bad habit of exploding in your hand," Oghren said. "Stick with the crossbow, kid."

"I think I'd rather have a bow," the boy said. "It feels familiar."

"Hmm, well, if you want to try it go ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you, though," Fang said. "It takes years of hard work to become proficient with a short or longbow."

They were back in the Yardang by that time. Fang spotted a cactoid and gestured her companions to crouch down and be quiet. "No noise this time, Dwarf," she said. "And no smells, please."

She continued. "This little guy won't be half as dangerous as the big fella you already took down, but it's tricky taming them without killing them. The feral gland is down low, near the base stem. What you might call his butt, if you want to think that way. Stick him in the back about a half an inch above his butt but don't sink your blade in more than an inch deep or he's dead. You don't have to be too stealthy about it, either - these little guys don't attack unless provoked, and if you can tame him he won't attack at all."

"Makes me wish I had a boot knife," the boy said, and stood up and walked over to the creature, which looked up at him without fear or malice before going about its incomprehensible walking-cactus business. The boy waited until its back was to him and jabbed his blade into the spot Fang indicated. The creature yelped, Odd whined, and that was all there was to it. The cactoid oozed water from its wound but appeared to be in no pain.

"Well, kid - looks like you done tamed yourself a cactus," Oghren said. "Let's wrap this hunt up already, eh? I'm startin' to get parched, and there's an ale at the Sandsea callin' my name."

"Let's go see Dantro about your bounty, and let the dwarf get to his drinking," Fang said. "Tomorrow, if you like, you can come to my ranch. I'll show you the critters I've tamed."

"I'd like that."

"Good. I'll spend the night at the Clan Hall and meet you there in the morning, then. Bring your walking shoes: I live on the Ozmone Plain, and that's a fair distance from the city."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: A Boy Prepares**

Fang and Oghren left the boy at the Estersand courtyard, and after a brief examination of the gate crystal, which went some ways towards healing his remaining needle pricks, the boy headed back out into the desert to hunt. Perhaps he was overeager, but he wanted to make headway on his licensing board so he could get that bow. He learned more about his animal companions as they worked together. Odd was a terrific melee fighter, capable of running down and killing the small, fast-moving desert wolves, and the little cactoid was a surprisingly powerful mage. It seemed to know but one spell, the summoning of a strong, circular desert wind, but the sandstorms it created were effective for disabling prey or deterring predators. The boy pondered the seeming impossibility of naming a cactus, and whether there was any point to the exercise, and finally settled upon what seemed to be the only name appropriate: Prickles.

He dressed out the wolves Odd killed, and left the grey, sickly-looking meat for the scavengers since the thextera turned his nose up at them. Then he laid his pelts out on the sand to dry and went to find a cockatrice. He found two, rolling about the hills west of the Outpost, and dispatched them himself. One he dressed out immediately and gave to the thextera to eat, the other he trussed into a bundle and hung over his shoulder. There were three shiny blue stones in the dressed cockatrice's crop. He pocketed these to show Fang later. He collected his pelts and went back to the city.

It was a decent showing for a day's labor. The bounty from the flowering cactoid weighted down his coin pouch, the cockatrice was heavy on his back, and his arms were full of furs to sell. Odd's stomach wobbled from the meal he'd eaten, and for better or worse the boy now had a pet cactus. He went to the shop to show Migelo his earnings.

"Odds Bodkins, lad," Migelo said, and Odd's ears perked to the sound of his name. "You look like you've had quite the day. What are those marks on your face? Are those wounds?"

"_Healed _wounds, Ser," the boy said. "Just cactus needles, nothing life-threatening."

Migelo wrung his hands. "I was so afraid you'd get yourself hurt. Gods, but this is hard on me, lad."

"I'm sorry you were worried, Ser," the boy said, more than a little surprised at the storekeeper's concern. "I hope this goes some way toward making up for it."

He set down his pelts and brought out the cockatrice. "Fang said you like wild cockatrice meat, so I thought I'd bring you some."

"Oh, that's a beauty, boy, thank you! I'll pay thirty gil for a bird like that."

"No need, Ser. I owe you a good deal more than a little fresh meat."

Migelo was insistent, but the boy could not be persuaded to accept a single copper. To top matters off, he opened up his pouch and counted out every coin of what he owed for his equipment. "There; we're square on that score now and I feel much better," the boy said. "I'm hoping I can make enough from my pelts and feathers to buy a basic shortbow. I have enough license points to equip one, now."

"Now lad, you should keep this. Pay me back once you've gotten yourself ahead of the game."

"No, Ser. I appreciate all you do for me, Ser, but I don't like to be beholden to any man. Fang and Oghren are talking about finding me a sponsor, and I don't think I care for the idea. It seems too much like I'm being purchased."

Migelo gave a quiet chuckle. "You're an independent lad, and no mistake. Well, do it your way and don't let anybody tell you different. Maybe it's right and maybe it's not, but you're the only one who can decide that for you."

"Thank you, Ser, for understanding."

The boy went to the bazaar to offload his pelts and feathers. He felt a delicious sensation of freedom as he pocketed his coin, and went to look through the weapons dealer's stands to see what could be found in the way of a basic shortbow. The selection, unfortunately, was underwhelming.

"I want a _bow, _not a toy," he said, as he twanged the limp bowstring of one such pathetic piece of gear. "This piece of garbage would break before it would give me any real killing power."

The dealer crossed his arms over his bullish chest. "That's what you get for a basic license. You want a better grade of weapon, earn more points - _or_ make it yourself."

The man said this last with a sneer on his lip. The boy disregarded the man's contempt. "Thank you, I believe I shall," he said, and went to a stall selling tools and purchased a small hatchet. He found a block of resin and purchased that, as well. It cost him less all together than the substandard bow. He took his purchases and walked out of the city into the Estersand, with the purposeful stride of a man on a mission. He retraced his steps through the Outpost and unerringly through the maze of Yardang, and all the way to the banks of the Nebra. He cut a small pile of brush and built a fire, over which he heated his block of hard resin. While that was happening, he cut down a small tree of hard but supple wood, and utilizing both hatchet and sword cut the wood into strips. Working with the care of a craftsman and the sure swiftness of long experience he laminated these strips together into a single short, straight length. Using the heat of the fire and water from the river, he carefully shaped this length into a nocked curve, using his eye only to assure an even bend. He smoothed off the rough edges by rubbing sand over the grain with a block of scrap wood. It took the rest of the day and most of the night, but he wasn't worried about time or about predators. Odd would warn him long before anything could attack. He still needed gut to make a bowstring, and then he'd need to buy or fashion his own arrows, but before the sun rose, he had a bow.

He carefully extinguished the embers of his fire, and stood in the pitchy darkness a moment, letting his eyes adjust. The stars shone brilliantly overhead, a hundred thousand diamonds scattered across a sky of blackest velvet. The river lapped its banks with a restful sound, and somewhere in the near distance a crocodile called to its mate with a deep, guttural rattle. The boy drank it all in while he scratched Odd's ears. He'd always liked the nighttime…or at least, he felt like he had.

"Come on, boy," he said at last. "Today's going to be an awfully long day if we don't get _some _sleep."

* * *

**A/N:** I recognize that I'm fudging the amount of effort it takes to make a laminated shortbow, as well as the time involved, but this is fantasy and just for fun so I don't give a damn.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: A Boy and An Enigma**

The boy spent the remainder of the night curled against the thextera in the lee of a hut in the Estersand Village. He managed an hour or two of sleep before the sunrise woke him. The village rose as early as the sun, and as he gathered his things together he was hailed by a familiar voice. Dantro's wife waved him over.

"Hello there, boy. I just wanted to tell you that my patient is better already, thanks to the flower you brought me. I wonder if you might do me another favor?"

"I'm willing to help out, Ma'am, but I do have to be getting back to Rabanastre soon," the boy said.

"Oh, it shouldn't take long at all. You see, there's a salve I can make from the mucus of the semclam that lives in the Nebra River. It's a bright blue shellfish that stays in the shallows. Could you bring me some of them, please? It would really help a great deal, and I'm willing to pay you for your time and effort."

"I'll see what I can do. How many do you need?"

"As many as you can find."

The boy nodded and walked to the river's edge. He searched the shallows and soon found two bright blue clamshells, the occupants of which closed up tight the moment he touched them. He brought them to Dantro's wife.

"These are what you're looking for, Ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes, that's them! Can you find any more?"

"That's all there seems to be here in the village. I'll go walk the riverbank outside and see if I can't find a few more."

He returned in a few minutes with three more semclams. "Is this enough? I'd have to swim to find more, and I don't like doing that in a river I don't know."

"The Nebra isn't really safe for swimming, lad, but thank you so much for the help. This should be plenty. Here, your reward."

She paid him and he put the coins in his pouch. "Thank you very much, Ma'am," he said. "Now I really have to be going; someone is expecting me back in Rabanastre, and I should check in with the person I'm staying with, too, so he knows I'm all right. I'll check back, later, and see how your patient is doing."

"I'd appreciate that. I may have more work for you later, too. You're a good boy, you know that?"

The boy, who'd dreamt again of blood and death and dishonor, wished he knew if that were true.

With Odd and Prickles at his side the trip back to Rabanastre was easy enough. He stopped quickly at Migelo's to let the old man know he was safe. Migelo looked as if he had not slept the entire night, and the boy felt bad about that. Migelo, however, said nothing about it except, "We must let the young birds test their wings."

The boy went to the Clan Hall, where he found Fang waiting for him. "Oghren won't be joining us today," she said as he approached. "I think we'll be just fine on our own, don't you think? Certainly things will smell better."

A bit shyly, he showed her the bow he'd fashioned. "Where'd you get this?" Fang asked, as she inspected it. "It's splendid work. I didn't think you could buy a first-license shortbow of this quality."

"I made it."

She closed her eyes and handed the bow back to him. "I don't know why I don't think you're having me on," she said. Her eyes popped open again. "Listen, kid - if that's true, then I'm buying you a bowstring and quiver. I want to see what you can do with the damned thing."

"Oh no, Fang, I can't let you do - "

"_Ah ba-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa," _Fang interrupted. "This is not charity, kid, this is curiosity. They say it killed the cat, so since I don't care to go the same way I'm providing the means to settle my mind. There'll be plenty of opportunities today for you to astound me, if you're capable of it."

"Well, thank you, Fang, I guess."

She led him down into the bazaar, right to the same weapons stall run by the same bullish dealer the boy had dealt with yesterday. The man grinned unpleasantly as he saw the boy approach.

"Back to buy yourself a 'toy,' lad?" he said.

Fang put the home crafted bow on the counter. "Kid needs a string and a quiver of arrows, please."

The grin faded from the man's face. _"You _make this?" he asked Fang. Fang shook her head.

"Kid did. Or so he says."

"Couldn't have. That's guild-quality craftsmanship, even if it is a bit plain. Where's the maker's mark?"

The man inspected the bow, felt the newness of the construction, the way the resin was still slightly tacky in places, and laid it back down respectfully. "I've seen kids make themselves 'bows' before," he said. "Cut a twig and run a piece of twine from end to end. I don't know who made this bow, but they clearly know what they're about. I've got some decent arrows in stock, just got to run to the storehouse. Won't be a moment."

Fang looked the boy over from head to toe. "Who _are_ you, kid?" she asked. "You don't look more than, what, fourteen? Fifteen, maybe? You seem to have skills it takes a lifetime to achieve."

"I don't _know_ who I am, Fang," the boy said, "or how old or anything else about me…but I think…I think I might be older than I look. I've been having dreams. I'm an old man, in plate armor, and I'm fighting some sort of dragon. The dragon is down, but it's not dead yet. I have to kill it, and when I do, I think…I think I die."

He shook his head. "I think my dreams are memories, Fang. I think it really happened. I think I died."

"Maybe…it's a dream of the future?" Fang offered. "The Gran Kiltias on Bur Omisace is supposed to be a dreamsage, with visions of the future in his dreams."

"Doesn't feel like the future. It feels like the past. I can't explain it, my mind doesn't want to explore it and shies away. I think I've forgotten everything about myself because I don't _want_ to remember who I was."

"I gotta say, kid, that's quite a story. I don't know how much of it I can believe, but I can see _you_ believe it. Maybe you should talk to the Nu Mou about it. They're up on all the metaphysical stuff, maybe one of them can help you."

She led him out of the bazaar into the southern plaza. "We're heading out South Gate today, so if you want you can stop and see if the gate crystal there shows memories of you. Could help you clear things up."

"Yes, I think that's probably a good idea."

She brought him to the crystal, and he placed the flat of his hand upon it. "Well, kid - what do you see?"

"I don't see anything," he said. "I feel sort of…light-headed…but I don't see anything."

"Huh. Weird. You're sure? You should be seeing _something_ - crystals standing in courtyards, or in aerodromes, or out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing?"

"Nothing. What does it mean?"

"It _means_…well, I honestly don't know what it means. You've never touched an orange gate crystal before, I guess, though how you've managed that I can't say. Most people touch them as a matter of course, and parents put their babies' hands on them everywhere they travel."

She scratched her head, and then shrugged. "Well, no sense worrying about it, is there? I can't answer your questions but _someone_ out there surely can, and I'll help you find 'em. Let's go, unless you don't want to see my critters now?"

"No, I'd like to see them. As you say, there's no sense worrying about it," the boy said, but he was worried all the same.

Fang led him out onto the desert plains. "I live in Oerba, which is south a ways," she said. "On Ozmone Plain, a few miles from the Garif village. Stand in my front doorway and you can see the broken column of Taejin's Tower."

"What's Taejin's Tower?" the boy asked.

"You'll see," Fang said. "You'll like Oerba. It's green, there, and all over flowers. The desert sort of wears on the eyes after a while."

Giza plains was different from the other parts of the desert the boy had already visited. It was hardpan, for one thing, instead of loose sand. The fiends were different, too. Instead of small, irritating wolves there were strong, powerful hyenas with grey fur and slashing horns. They stayed well clear of the party, however, thanks to Odd's overpowering presence.

"During the Rains this whole area turns green and lush," Fang said. "All the surrounding desert drains into these dry wadis. The fiends you see now mostly don't like the wet, so when the weather changes you'll find a whole new slew of critters come in to take their place. If you get a map of the area from the Cartographer's Guild it won't do you much good during the Rains."

She gestured to a pair of fluffy white rabbits gamboling on the packed earth some yards ahead. "Rabbit stew makes a nice breakfast, if you haven't eaten yet. If you can shoot those two happy bunnies, we'll cook 'em up when we get to my place."

The boy unslung his bow from his shoulder, drew an arrow, and aimed. The single shot he loosed at the perfect moment to strike both rabbits dead. Fang grunted.

"Apparently whatever else you might be, you are indeed an archer," she said. "Good shot, kid."

She recovered his arrow and trussed both rabbits up and slung them over her own shoulder. "Let's go," she said. "Like as not, I'll have to clear a werewolf or two from our path, and I'd like to get it over with. Rough fight, that, and not something you should join in on."

She led him through a tiny nomad village, the residents of which she seemed to have a nodding acquaintance. They left the village from a western exit and found themselves near a bridge over a dry gully, with hyenas and tall birdlike creatures with owl's faces swarming round it. The hyenas, emboldened by the proximity of the larger fiends, attacked. _"This _is a fight you're welcome to help with, kid," Fang said, as she drew her bladed lance.

The hyenas weren't the threat that the birds were. They attacked, conjuring powerful winds with their stunted wings and jabbing with their strong beaks. It was a better fight than anything the boy had experienced thus far in his waking memory, and he relished every moment of it. It left him with the desire to take on something larger and more formidable still.

As he cleaned his sword and Fang wiped sweat from her brow, she remarked, "You _are_ a fighter, kid. I don't think it'll be too hard to turn you into something great. Maybe you'll even be _legendary, _one day."

The boy blushed and said nothing. They continued on. In the next area, next to another bridge over another dry gully, the boy's eye caught on something shiny. He picked it up - a discarded escutcheon, scratched and dented but otherwise sound.

"People lose the darnedest things," Fang said. "That probably fell off the back of a wagon, or was dropped in fleeing from a foe too great for the bearer's skills. Maybe it was even tossed aside by some fool with too much money for his brains. Do you know what we say when we find something like that?"

"No."

"We say, 'Your loss; my gain.' You can use that yourself, or keep it and sell it to an armorer for a hundred gil or so. If you use it, make sure you do it legally, though. Don't want clan members getting into trouble for unlicensed equipment."

He pulled out his licensing board and found the appropriate square for basic shields. "This qualifies as basic, doesn't it?" he asked.

"Sure. A starter-shield, if ever I saw one. Which is why I think it most likely that someone wearing pants that shouldn't be brown dropped it on the fly."

He had enough points, so he purchased the license. "There. All legal." He strapped the battered escutcheon to his left arm and gave it an experimental thrust. It felt very natural and he liked feeling the weight as well. In his dream, before he snatched up the greatsword, he'd been using a shield. Perhaps that was the sort of fighting he'd done in that other life, if his dreams were true.

Fang clapped him on the shoulder. "If you turn out to be a prodigal weapons master I'll _believe_ you've lived another life," she said.

She led him on a short distance, where a pair of massive creatures bearing enormous scimitars paced back and forth. "Two of them. Damn," Fang said.

"What _are_ they?" the boy asked.

"Werewolves - least, that's what they call 'em. They're a type of behemoth. Even one is way out of your league, kid. Stay well back and let me handle this."

Fang drew her lance and leapt forward. She was a powerful warrior, and watching her fight was almost as enjoyable as fighting himself. But his blood was up, and he thirsted for a stronger test of his skills. He couldn't stand by and watch, particularly since the battle was not exactly in Fang's favor. He raised his found shield, drew his sword, and charged. His battle cry was fierce enough to give the behemoths - and Fang - pause.

The nearest beast raised its scimitar and lunged for him. He knocked the giant blade aside with his escutcheon, which dented further beneath the blow. His small mythril sword was hardly large enough to make much impact on such a creature so he aimed for the neck above his head and hoped to strike hard enough to sever a main artery. With the full weight of his charge behind it, his short sword plunged into the creature's throat. A gush of hot blood washed over his hand and arm, and the fiend died with a gurgle. Fang cheered as she swiftly dispatched the remaining werewolf.

"I underestimated you, kid. It takes a lot of strength to bring down a brute like that, and you felled him easy. Let's cut ourselves some werewolf hide for the tanners, grab some meat, and bottle some of that blood. Valuable stuff all of it, believe me."

"How did you know there would be werewolves here?" the boy asked, as he deftly skinned his massive kill. "Are they common?"

"Not terribly," Fang said, "but there's always one or two prowling around in this area. There's two kinds of creatures, kid - Mist-born and bred. There's always a certain number of Mist-born creatures, and that number is fixed. Kill a Mist-born fiend and in a short time another will take its place, coalesced out of the very magic of the earth itself. Bred fiends are born in the way I hope someone _else _has told you about, because the last thing I hired on to do when I started mentoring you was to explain procreation."

The boy blushed. "Yes, I know how that works," he said.

"Good. That saves us both some awkwardness. It's not far now. Let's pack up and go."

She put their prizes in her pouch, which appeared to be bottomless. "Invisible expansion charm," she explained, to his query. "You ought to get yourself one, too. Dead useful. You can carry as many things as you want without ever feeling the weight of it, as long as they fit inside the bag individually. So skins yes, behemoth swords no. Pity, since they're worth a lot at market. Can you carry one of them?"

The boy grasped the hilt of one of the giant scimitars. He was able to raise it, but fighting with it would be almost impossible. Though the werewolf had wielded it with one hand, it was heavier and more awkward by far than a well-balanced greatsword. "I think I can carry it as far as your home," he said.

"Excellent. I'll take the other, and we'll drop 'em right quick if we run into trouble, which we will. Ozmone Plain is wilder than the areas immediately surrounding Rabanastre, and there's no city patrol in Oerba to make it safer. Try not to let it land on your toes or you're like to cut them off."

They set off down the path the werewolves had guarded. "How much farther is it?" the boy asked.

"Oh, only about ten more miles," Fang said cheerfully. "Oerba is on the shores of Lake Bresha, not far from the edge of the Golmore Jungle. You're not tired already, are you?"

"No, Ma'am. I mean, no, Fang."

"Good. Off we go."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: A Boy Visits Oerba**

Fang knew the plains and the fiends that roamed them in great detail, so they were able to avoid most of what she was pleased to dub "trouble." The boy was fascinated by the great armored horses that roamed the green grasslands, and wondered why, in a world where such creatures existed, people rode birds. He asked Fang and she explained.

"Horses are hard to tame," she said. "Chocobos are a rougher ride but much more docile - the yellow ones, at any rate. Tamed chocobos will let anybody ride them, but horses you either have to tame yourself or get one bred from tame, and they're not easy to breed. You need a lot of pasturage."

They were on the outskirts of Fang's property now, though still not at her home itself. One of the great winged creatures, what Fang called a Zu, swooped down on them, shrieking.

"Better get out that bow," Fang said, as she dropped the behemoth sword and reached for her lance. The boy did not drop his own burden. Instead, acting on pure instinct, he raised the heavy blade above his head. As the bird dove for him he brought the blade crashing down upon it. The sharp steel bit in and sliced the creature nearly in half. The heavy, leathery body dropped on top of him and crushed him to the ground. Fang laughed as she tugged the carcass off of him.

"You all right, kid?" she asked.

"Why can't I fight without being set afire, stabbed with a thousand needles, or having things drop onto my head?" the boy asked as he lay staring up at the cloudless blue sky.

"Occupational hazard," Fang said. "You want to avoid those things? Get a desk job."

The boy sat up with some difficulty. "Thanks but no thanks."

Fang gave him a hand up. "Atta boy," she said. "Come on; my house is just beyond that next rise. You'll be able to see Oerba soon, too."

They walked on, while Odd gleefully tugged the mangled carcass of the Zu along with his powerful jaws. Beyond the rise, as promised, was Fang's "house," a metal box on tall steel framing to keep the fiends out. She reached up and tugged down a set of folding stairs.

"Oerba Yun Fang?" a voice said, and they turned to see a short, oddly dressed woman wearing a solar topee. "I'm so happy you came back; I thought I might have to walk all the way to Rabanastre. I'm told you're a member of this Clan Centurio…thing? I was hoping you might help me."

"Yeah, I'm with Centurio. What do you need, Miz…?"

"Peabody. Amelia Peabody-Emerson, to be more precise. I'm an archaeologist, and my husband, the preeminent archeologist Radcliffe Emerson, Ph. D., and I have recently made the most exciting discovery. An ancient tomb, located deep within the Nam-Yensa sandsea, which we believe may be the tomb of King Raithwall himself! The only difficulty is, the place is crawling with fiends."

"Uh huh. And you need someone to go clear it out for you, that about right?" Fang asked.

Amelia nodded so vigorously that her topee fell off. She caught it and put it back on. "Emerson, of course, says damn the torpedoes. He wants to charge straight in and study the place, and take care of the fiends himself, but the government has strict regulations about this sort of thing. We're _legally obligated_ to call in professional hunters."

"Why didn't you just teleport to Rabanastre and bring your query directly to Montblanc?" Fang asked. "He handles the assignments."

"I don't like teleporting. Makes my stomach churn. I looked up known Clan members and you were the nearest and most-recommended. Can you help me?"

"If the price is right, I'm your girl."

"Oh, that's right. The bounty. Well, since our excavation is government-funded, you'll receive the standard government pay for extermination work. As a bonus, there's a legend about Raithwall's tomb, that it is guarded by a powerful Esper. You are familiar with Esper stones?"

"I've heard of 'em, yeah, but I don't know anyone who actually has any."

"Well, if we're correct in our hypothesis that this is, in fact, Raithwall's tomb, then you may be the first on your block!" Amelia said, with a grand flourish. "Defeat the Esper and it's yours to command. My only stipulation is that you must allow me to observe the battle. Such opportunities come 'round but once in a lifetime!"

Fang looked at the boy. "What do you say, kid? After what I've seen today, I don't doubt you'd be a big help on a job like this. Care to tag along? I'll split the proceeds with you. Give you a third, since I think maybe we'd better have Oghren along, too, if he'll come."

The boy made a fist of his right hand and slammed it into his left palm. "I'm with you."

"Atta boy. All right, Peabody; we're on it. We got a time frame on this job?"

"As swiftly as possible," Amelia said. "Our excavations can't get underway until the ruins are secure, and the season is wasting. I do understand that it takes some time to organize an expedition like this, but if there is anything I can do to expedite matters, please do let me know."

"I'm always dressed for traveling," Fang said. "The kid's going to need a bit of outfitting for a job like this, though. Give us two days to get ready, and tell me where the heck this tomb of yours is so we can get there. I'm not exactly well-traveled in the Nam-Yensa. That's Urutan territory, and they're not exactly friendly folk."

"I've come prepared," Amelia said, and produced a folded parchment map. The boy took it from her and opened it up. A glance showed a sprawling territory with their objective on the far side from Rabanastre.

"This is going to be a long walk," the boy said, and handed Fang the map. She glanced at it herself and grimaced.

"We can speed things up with chocobos, but getting the dwarf on one is next to impossible," she said. "Still, nothing for it: he rides or he doesn't come. We were just about to make ourselves a late breakfast, Peabody - care to join us?"

"Thank you, but I must be getting back to camp. Emerson requires a stern hand when his plans are thwarted like this - a stern hand and a watchful eye, both of which only I can provide. Good day to you both, and thank you so much. I'll see you at the ruins!"

Fang watched the archaeologist walk away and shook her head. "There goes a character if ever I saw one," she said. She climbed the stairs to her elevated hut. "Come on, kid - I'm hungry."

Inside, she put a pot on to boil and set to work cleaning the rabbits the boy had killed. She gestured to the window that looked out to the east. "You can see Oerba from here, if you want to take a gander. Then go look out the front door and see Taejin's Tower, like I told you about."

The boy went and looked. Through the glassless window he could see a small village of similar elevated huts and crumbling ruins clustered at the edge of a vast lake. He could not see the far shore. "That's Lake Bresha?" he asked.

"Yup. Good fishing. Delicious bass."

"I'll have to drop a line sometime," the boy said. "What are the ruins from?"

"There was a city here, once," Fang said. "Thousands of years ago. There was a war, and it died out. Lots of places shrivel up and die, in Gran Pulse. The strong survive, the weak are devoured. That's the law of the land."

"Is Oerba strong?" the boy asked.

"It's adaptable, and that works out about the same in the end. Our little village has stood for hundreds of years, longer than the grand city it was built upon. We survive because we don't fight each other, we lend a helping hand. Humans aren't a strong species, individually. Working together is what makes us tough. Like you and me taking down those werewolves this morning."

The boy smiled. "I think I like the Oerban philosophy."

She gestured with her filleting knife. "Go see Taejin's Tower," she said. "It's quite a sight, I'm not kidding."

The boy looked through the doorless entry. Beyond some high, rolling hills he saw a forest of scrubby trees, and rising high above the trees and hills alike was an enormous column. It must once have challenged the very heavens themselves, but now it was broken, and the upper portion lay like scattered building blocks almost in a direct line from Fang's home. He saw dragons circling the broken column aloft on their leathery wings, and caught a glimpse of something bigger diving in and out of the interior.

"What's that creature?" he asked. "The one that looks like a shield and a string of beads."

"That's the Fal-Cie," Fang said, in a somber voice. "Dahaka. He's bad news, and no mistake. Fortunately he hangs about the tower and doesn't bother us folk living in its shadow. Much."

"What's a Fal-Cie?" the boy asked.

"It's a fiend, after a fashion. Mist-born, with a specific purpose they're meant to fulfill. What Dahaka's purpose is no one can figure, since he doesn't exactly seem to guard the tower or anything. It's more like he's looking for something, but just in that one small area. I don't guess he's ever going to find it, whatever it is."

"Who decides a Fal-Cie's purpose?"

"One of the gods. Although they say that if a great Hero defeats a Fal-Cie in honorable combat, they gain command of that Fal-Cie, just like Espers and Eidolons. Fal-Cie could be seen as the top tier of that brand of creature, I suppose, if the legend is true. Don't think anybody's ever actually beat one."

"So what are Espers and Eidolons, then?"

"Oh that's right, you don't know this stuff," Fang said, "or at least you don't remember it. I'll explain. Espers and Eidolons are what is called a Crystal Summons. Defeat one of them and they turn into a crystal called either an Esper Stone or an Eidolith. This crystal fuses to the one that defeated them, and from that time forward they can be brought forth on command to fight for their new master. Or do other things, I suppose, like lift heavy objects or some such. It's an ancient legend, but I don't know how much truth there is in it. I suppose we'll find out together, won't we? Peabody says there's one in this ruin we're going to be clearing."

"So it's like you tamed them," the boy said.

"Sort of. The difference, I guess, apart from the fact that they don't require care and feeding, is that Espers and Eidolons don't have feral glands and can't be killed, only forced to yield. Or so goes the legend."

She put the meat in the pot and told the boy to go pick some vegetables from her garden. "Carrots, onions, and potatoes," she said. "You know what they look like, growing?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "I mean, yes, Fang."

Fang's vegetable garden was carved out of the stump of what must once have been a giant of a tree, like the few other trees that grew on the plains. His arms would not stretch around its bole if there were three more of him to help with the reaching. A wooden ramp led up to the top, where brown earth was packed into four carved niches, and that was where the vegetables grew. In addition to the desired onions, carrots, and potatoes he saw garlic, strawberries, aubergines, lettuce, peas, cucumbers, and even a single white pumpkin that bid fair to become gigantic when ripe. He liked the smell of the garden, old wood and rich soil and green growing things, and the smell of the grass and the wildflowers, and even the pungent aroma of algae and dead fish that wafted in from the lake. He liked Fang's house, humble though it was. He could see himself living in such a place.

From the top of the stump he looked around at Fang's ranch, which stretched almost as far as his eyes could see. Animals of every description, some he'd never guessed could exist, stood in pens and corrals, and there were many ramshackle barns and outbuildings. He saw chocobos, mostly yellow, but he saw too a green one, several brown, and one brilliant scarlet bird with purple tail feathers. He saw a pack of wolves, and a pack of larger wolf-like creatures - gorgonopsids, Fang would later identify for him. And he saw gelatinous, vegetable-looking creatures she would tell him were from the flan family. Surprisingly to him these were bred for their meat, which was slightly poisonous and had a spicy flavor a lot of people liked, apparently.

He brought the vegetables back in the house and began to chop them up for the stew. Fang brought out a couple of pieces of parchment and laid them on the tabletop next to him. "Those are registration forms, for your critters," she said. "You've got thirty days from the time you tame a wild fiend to register it with the local government. They'll send you a license that you have to get the critter to wear on a collar, somehow. Easy enough with thexterans and cactoids, not so much with some of the more undomesticable critters. I can help you fill it out, if you need me to, but it might be better to send for my friend Vanille. She can read a lot better than I can."

"I can read," the boy said.

"You can? That's a rare skill in these parts. I wonder where you learned that?"

The boy shrugged. Fang sighed. "You are quite the mystery, kid. There's a quill and ink in the drawer over yonder. You fill those out while I finish cooking this stew, and then you can just drop 'em in the post when you get back to Rabanastre. I'll give you a teleport stone and you can teleport back from the Oerba crystal. Then at the very least you'll have one pair of gate crystals you can use."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: The Strange Boy and the Lake**

As they ate a hearty rabbit stew, Fang gave the boy information on equipment he'd want to look into, with particulars on where to get them cheapest. Lacking blank parchment, the boy wrote it all down on the back of his map of Rabanastre, which he'd long-since memorized but kept with him at all times regardless.

"You can buy a pack like mine from Gatsley in the bazaar," Fang said, after swallowing down a spoonful of stew, "since you say he promised you a discount. His prices are fairly low to begin with. You should learn some new magic, too. You can license all basic elemental spells at a blow for something like twenty points, so it's a cheap start to learning to work with magics. Some fiends are resistant to physical attacks so it's good to have magic to deal with them, and you should learn about elemental resistances and weaknesses anyway. Makes life a whole hell of a lot easier. You're good enough with that sword of yours that I think you ought to consider upgrading to a longsword or a broadsword of some type. Maybe get yourself a better grade of shield, too. You're definitely something of a juggernaut so maybe think about prioritizing a better class of armor before upgrading your weaponry. I think scale or chainmail would be a wise investment. Unless you think you'd rather specialize in archery, in which case I'd just get some tougher leathers."

The boy considered it. He loved the feel of drawing a bead on prey with his bow, but it could not compare to the thrill of throwing himself headlong into melee combat. "I think I'll look into some sort of mail," he said. "I think I'm more of a swordsman."

Fang clapped him on the shoulder. "Somehow, kid, I suspect that's very true. Finish up your breakfast: I want to see how well you get on with a chocobo ride."

They spent the afternoon racing Fang's chocobos round and round the ranch. It was a strange mount, to say the least, but the boy seemed to get the feel of it quickly enough. She even let him ride the green chocobo, which was slightly more temperamental, she said, than the yellow ones. She herself rode the red chocobo with purple tail feathers, which was almost psychotically difficult to control. It was also incredibly fast, and she won every heat. When the birds had enough of racing they dismounted and Fang led him back to the house.

"You and Bond seem to get on well together," she said, referring to the green chocobo by name. "You can ride him when we head through the Estersand. He's faster and braver than a lot of birds, so he'll do well on a trip like this. He also has a habit of casting healing spells on his rider when there's fighting to be done, which I think you'll agree is useful as hell."

She stood at the west window and looked out over her ranch. "You should get yourself a companion animal that works healing magic, also," she said. "Maybe a cait sith or a spiranthes. Spiranthes are easy to care for. They mostly stick to Golmore Jungle, though, and that's a rough area you're better off to stay away from for now. You could buy a bred-tame cait sith almost anywhere. I've got a couple kittens right now myself."

She turned back. "Want to come take a look at them? They're in the chocobo barn."

"Sure. What's a cait sith, anyway?" the boy asked.

"It's a potcat," Fang answered. "It looks like a cat but it has a shell made of skystone and it kind of flies, after a fashion. Come on."

They went back outside and into a stable that stank of chocobo. There were a number of long-tailed cats here, but none with shells. Fang pushed open the door of a stall containing a particularly tall purple chocobo and gestured him inside. "Don't worry about Ogre here: he's pretty gentle."

"Who takes care of your animals when you're not here?" the boy asked, as he stepped inside the stall.

"My friends and neighbors. I told you, in Oerba we all take care of each other. Here's the answer to what a cait sith is," she said, and pointed to a strange creature lying on the straw at the back of the stall. It looked like a snail with a long, pointed shell, but it poked out a furry feline face and mewed at him. Then it stood on the point of its shell and rose abruptly into the air.

"There's the kittens," Fang said. "The red one and the little red-and-white one haven't been laid claim to, so if one of 'em takes your fancy you're welcome to 'em. They take some effort in feeding, but not a fraction what that piebald brute outside costs you. Do you realize he's already eaten most of that Zu you killed? Should've named him Glutton."

The little red-and-white cait sith kitten crawled toward him, dragging its shell behind. It looked up and mewed plaintively in a tiny voice. He reached down and scratched gently beneath its chin, and was rewarded with a throbbing purr. "Cute little fella," he said. "Weird, but cute."

"If you like him he's yours," Fang said. "He still needs another week or so with his mama, but after that you can take him home."

"How much?" the boy asked.

"How much what?"

"How much does he cost?"

Fang sighed. "Kid, he's yours. No payment required."

"Would you sell him to someone else?" the boy asked.

"No. I don't breed cait siths deliberately, so I give the kittens away."

"Oh. All right, then. Thank you."

"You are one peculiar kid."

"So you've told me."

"It bears repeating."

Fang loaned him a fishing rod and they went down to the lake to try their luck. It was good, and in spite of interruptions they soon had a fine stringer of enormous bass. These were like no fish the boy had ever seen before, for they had legs. They looked quite a lot like frogs with dorsal fins, in fact.

"These buggers'll walk right into your house if you're not careful," Fang said. "Natural philosophers tell us we all started out as fish, way back in the dawning ages. Then the fish started growing lungs and legs and wandering up onto shore, and some of them learned how to live on land permanently. Every animal that exists on land today was once a creature not too different from these Bresha bass, from humans and dwarves and elves to wolves and cactoids and the great Long Gui. Well, maybe not the cactoids. I guess they're not so much animals as plants."

"What's a Long Gui?" the boy asked.

"I'll show you one someday, if we ever make it out onto the Archelyte Steppe together. Monstrous big critters, big enough to squash Oerba flat to the ground without noticing."

"Dangerous?"

"Extremely, but they don't usually attack unless provoked. The biggest danger with them is getting accidentally stepped on."

An interruption occurred then, as Odd leaped into the water and grabbed a large stone in his jaws, heaved it onto shore, and then barked at it as it rolled back into the water. Despite the ruckus, the boy felt something take his bait. He set his hook and began to reel in his line, but whatever was on the other end was powerful and bent the strong pole nearly double before it took line and ran with it. The boy let it go, and when it stopped taking line he did what he could to regain lost ground.

"Hooked a whopper, looks like," Fang said. "Hope it's not Bismarck."

"Who's Bismarck?" the boy asked as he struggled with the refractory fish.

"Fal-Cie that lives in the lake. Hooking him would be bad. Probably just a big fish, though. You can handle it, kid - that pole is built to bring in the big ones."

Whatever was on the other end of the pole settled down to the bottom of the lake and stayed there stubbornly no matter how hard he tugged. "Whatever it is, it's got a good grip on the lakebed," he said through gritted teeth.

"Sure you haven't hit a snag?" Fang asked. "Sometimes tricky fishies will run under a submerged log and leave the line behind 'em there."

"_Feels _like I'm hauling a log, but I'm pretty sure it's alive."

Corded muscles stood out in the boy's arms and he was sweating profusely, his face bright red with strain. "Son of a - " he said in a grunt, and pulled. He felt something massive come unstuck from the lake bed and rise slowly through the water.

"It's coming," he said, and panted as he slowly reeled in line an inch at a time. Half an hour, an hour, two hours…the fish was toying with him, rising closer - almost close enough to be seen in the murky depths - and then running away with his line and the patient work of an hour in a heartbeat. Twice more it stuck itself fast to the bottom. The boy wondered what would give out first - the fish, the line, the pole, or his strength. Fang watched the battle with more interest than most could have managed, witnessing such a slow process.

Finally the monster broke the surface, almost three hours after it first took his bait. Fang leapt to her feet instantly and gave a shout.

"What is it? Is it Bismarck?" the boy asked, alarmed.

"No, but almost as bad. It's a Wish-You-Were-Dead fish!"

"That…can't be good."

The fish was enormous and saucer-shaped, dark grey in color with mottled brown spots, and had a long, slender tail. As it broke the surface it thrashed that tail vigorously, lashing about like a whip. The boy's eyes were quick enough to see the sharp spike at the end of it.

"Look out, kid! Don't let it hit you!" Fang said, and dodged as the tail came whipping round at her. The boy ducked just in time for the tail spike to pass harmlessly over his head. It was close enough to riffle his hair.

He didn't let go of the pole. He didn't know how much trouble he'd be in if he got hit by that flailing spike, but he'd be damned if he'd let three hours' work go to waste. He hauled backward with all his remaining strength, and pulled the fish up onto land. Only once he had it too far out of the water for it to move its great bulk further did he let go of the pole.

The fish was landed but still dangerous. That flexible tail, longer than a bullwhip, lashed violently and the boy had to dance to keep out of its way. He ducked and dodged and found his way to where his short sword lay, then rushed back in. The creature lashed out with its tail, and he met it with his blade up. He sliced it off and the deadly spike plopped harmlessly to the rocky scree.

"Kill it! Kill it!" Fang exhorted, breathless with excitement. The boy plunged his blade down straight between what he took to be the creature's eyes, high on the middle of its broad back. The creature shivered and flailed, its great hood curled and uncurled spasmodically, and then it lay still at last.

The boy staggered off to the grassy verge and dropped down flat upon the ground. "I think…I've had…enough of fishing…for today," he said.

Fang laughed. "I don't doubt it. Take a breather, kid. You've earned it. Golly, what a bruiser. That's gotta be thirteen hundred pounds of fish you've landed, if it's a stone. _And_ you didn't get stuck. Good day's work, that."

She picked up the severed tail and wrapped it carefully in one of the rabbit pelts. "You can sell this to an apothecary and make a bundle off it," she said. "That fish can be sold for a hefty chunk of change, too, if you don't think you can eat it all yourself," she added, with a wicked grin.

"I don't even want to _look_ at it," the boy said, and groaned.

Fang laughed again. "Come on, kid - the gate crystal will fix those sore muscles right up. I'll help you pack your spoils back to Rabanastre so you can get your gil for 'em. That behemoth sword alone will probably earn you a couple of galleons."

"What's a galleon?"

"Gold coin, worth one thousand silver gil. You've hit the jackpot today, kiddo. And Oghren should have a meeting lined up for you with that sponsor he was telling us about. That's what he was supposed to be doing today, at any rate. Maybe he just sat around drinking, as usual."

"Fang, would you be angry if I said I'm not sure I want a sponsor?" the boy asked.

"No, but I'd be confused. Oghren's a good negotiator, believe it or not. He'll get you a square deal."

"That's not what bothers me."

"This is your inhibition about accepting things from people, anything that could be construed as 'help,' isn't it?" Fang asked. "I don't get you, kid. You said you liked the Oerban philosophy. We help each other or none of us can make it."

"I like it…I just don't know if I'm capable of living it. And it's not that, not exactly. I get what a sponsor does, but it feels like…it feels like…like I'm being _purchased._ I don't want to be owned by any man."

"At least go hear what the man has to say, eh? It's tough being a hunter. You can't expect paydays like this all the time, and you'll be pouring most of your gil back into your work, believe me. A sponsor could surely help you get a firm foundation under your feet, and it's not a bad deal at all. Most of us started out with a sponsor. _I _did, and I do not feel owned in the slightest."

"Perhaps you're right. I'll see this Varric of Oghren's and see what he has to say, at least."

"Good lad. Come on, this fish isn't going to move itself - not any longer, at any rate."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: A Boy Remembers**

The boy entered the Clan Hall that evening, his coin purse made heavy with six tea saucer-sized gold galleons that were the net result of his day's work. He was looking for Oghren, who was not at his usual table at the Sandsea. He found the dwarf at the Hall, but he was not alone. There was another dwarf with him, a strawberry blond with a strong profile and a heavy jaw. There was also a tall human man, dressed outlandishly in black velvet robes, whose ash blond hair was longer even than the boy's scraggly black locks. This man carried a black walking stick, and the head of the stick was a silver cobra with emeralds for eyes.

"Is this…?" the man asked, and Oghren grunted an uncomfortable affirmative. The man came forward with gloved hand outstretched. "Lucius Malfoy. An honor to meet you."

The man had a high, drawling, superior sort of voice. He also kept his rather patrician nose at a strongly elevated angle. Edgy, the boy accepted the offered handshake, even though he mistrusted this supposed "honor."

The man was waiting for something. Finally he prompted, "And your name is…?"

"You mean you don't know it? Then how do you know whether it's an honor to meet me or not?" the boy said, though he didn't exactly intend to be confrontational. The man did not seem the slightest bit affronted.

"I was scrying, and the gate crystals reported your presence here in Rabanastre," he said, and his words were more or less a mystery to the boy. "I've been on the lookout for people like you for a good many years now, but I've only found just one other. Mist-born people are rare indeed."

"Mist-born? What do you mean Mist-born?" the boy demanded.

"You do not know? You came to this place through the gate of Death, my dear boy."

The boy's face grew pale. He sank to his seat on the marble steps.

"So it's all true, then," he said slowly. "I died."

"So you _do_ remember," Lucius Malfoy said. "For curiosity's sake, how did death take you?"

"I…I dreamt I killed a dragon. When the dragon died, its soul tried to take over my body. When it couldn't, I died."

"Fascinating. I may be able to pinpoint from that what world you came from originally. What else do you remember? Who were you? What is your name?"

The boy shook his head, rather vigorously. "I don't know. I don't _want_ to know."

"More interesting still. No doubt you are unaware, but Mist-born beings are quite different to Mist-born fiends. Fiends possess no soul, you see, so any of the gods in the pantheon can create them using only their magic. Most are created by the earth-goddess Gaea. But _beings_ are different, for beings possess souls. Only the Maker has the power to create a soul, and the Maker has gone from this place many ages past. No new Mist-born beings can be created."

"But I wasn't _made _ages past. I've only been here three months."

"You misunderstand. No _new _Mist-born beings can be made. But Death sends your soul into the realm of the gods, and from there they are free to pluck you up and remake you in any image they desire. What reason they had for doing this to you is unfathomable, but it is the mystery that interests me. Depending on which god or goddess brought you here, you may be intended to work very great good upon this earth…or very great evil. Either way, I confess myself utterly fascinated. You must allow me to help you on your path to greatness."

The boy knew without question he didn't want any help from this supercilious man whatsoever, but cautiously he said, "What do you propose?"

"_Education, _my dear boy. I propose to set you up with a full scholarship to the Academy of Magical Arts in Paddra, the finest school in all of Gran Pulse. This time next year you could be well on your way to the best foundation for your new life in Gran Pulse that could ever be offered."

"And what if my purpose is to work great _evil?" _the boy asked. "Would you still be 'honored' to have met me and given me aid, Serrah Malfoy?"

"Sometimes a work of evil works to the greater good," Lucius Malfoy said. "There are no gods whose sole purpose is to inflict harm upon the world, so I have to suppose that no matter what direction your actions take you, your ultimate purpose is to further the work of the gods. To be a part of that, no matter the cost, is all I ask. To assist in the gods' endeavors is to taste of immortality."

The boy looked to Oghren, who shrugged and said, "I dunno, kid - an education ain't somethin' to sneeze at, exactly. AMAP costs a bloody fortune to go to, and full-ride scholarships ain't handed out like party favors. 'Ceptin' this once, it seems. You might want to go for it."

The idea of schooling did hold a certain temptation, but did he want anything to do with this cool blond devil? "I'll need time to think about it," the boy said.

"Of course, of course. I'll leave you with my card," Lucius Malfoy said, and produced a small square of heavy cardstock on which his name, occupation, and business address were written in flowing script. His line of work, evidently, was investment banking. The boy wondered what sort of investment exactly the man thought he'd be banking by sending him to school.

"Archades?" he inquired, referring to the business address.

"My home city, the Capitol of Gran Pulse."

"Old money and tight fists, usually," Oghren supplied. Lucius Malfoy smiled a thin smile but said nothing.

"I'll contact you, Ser, when I make my decision," the boy said, and hoped that the man would go.

"Excellent. If I may ask, what name do you go by here in this world where you do not and do not wish to remember who you were previously?"

"…Maric."

Lucius Malfoy had black eyebrows, highly arched over eyes the same pale, glacial shade of grayish blue as the boy. One of these black brows shot skyward into a higher arch the instant he said his name.

"Curious," Lucius Malfoy said.

"What's curious?" the boy asked.

"Your name. It's quite the coincidence, really. Firstly because my late father's name was Marius, from which the name Maric derives, but mostly because that other Mist-born lad I made mention of? _His_ name is Maric as well."

The boy's stomach gave a sudden lurch. He saw a vision of golden hair and laughing eyes, and felt a lump come into his throat. Maric. He remembered Maric, now, suddenly. Maric was dead…or was he? He could not be sure of anything in this world that was so strange and new to him.

Lucius Malfoy was still speaking. "He will be attending the Academy next year, himself. You're roughly of an age, I should venture to guess; he arrived in this place far younger than you. I've been sponsoring him for the past six years. Wouldn't it be fascinating to learn that the two of you had some deeper connection? Perhaps you share a singular purpose."

Yes. Fascinating. The boy felt weak and tired, more than he had after battling the Wish-You-Were-Dead fish. "Oghren, Fang and I are going to be heading out on a mission to clear fiends out of some ancient ruins in a couple of days," he said in a weary voice. "She'll cut you in for a third of the profits, but on the condition you have to be willing to ride out on a chocobo. It's a long way from here."

Lucius Malfoy walked away, velvet robes swishing, and Oghren grumbled.

"Hrmph. Well, I'll ride one a' the damned things," he said, "but there's gotta be some kind a' saddle blanket between me an' it. An' you tell that woman she'd better bring me some sorta _balm, _too."

"Augh, now _there's_ a mental image I didn't need," the blond-haired dwarf said. "Are you going to introduce me or am I SOL now that _Big Moneybags _is in the picture?"

"SOL?" the boy inquired.

"Shit Outta Luck," the dwarf clarified. He stuck out one stubby, thick hand. "Varric Tethras, at your service."

The boy shook his hand. Already he liked this man far more than the cold glass of water that just left. "Oghren's sponsor," he said.

Varric chuckled. "Not _his_ sponsor, kid, but I wouldn't mind being yours."

"Let's talk. What are you offering, exactly, and what do you expect to get out of it?"

"What I'm offering is an investment. Fifty galleons for outfitting and equipment. In exchange, I receive seven percent of any bounties you collect hereafter. I expect I'll make my money back eventually, with hopefully a little more on top of that to set me up a little higher in the world. Mostly, though, I'm looking for _stories. _Hunters lead lives of excitement and adventure; shit my readers lap up like water."

"Varric here is a _writer," _Oghren said. "Don't that just beat all?"

"Writer, investor, merchant prince," Varric said. "What do you say, kid? Sound like a deal?"

"I don't know. I don't like to think of myself as being bought and paid for."

"You won't be. Consider it, if you will, more a matter of being _hired, _in a very loose sense."

"Two percent," the boy said.

"Six percent," Varric countered.

"Three."

"Five."

"Three."

Varric sighed. "Four percent. Rock-bottom offer."

The boy glanced at Oghren. Oghren nodded firmly. The boy looked back at Varric. "You don't mind all this talk about me being Mist-born and all that?"

"Kid, it's all the same to me if you're Mist-born or bitch-born. All I'm hoping is you'll make me some money. Oghren blows a lot of smoke on a lot of subjects, but one thing he doesn't kid around about is hunters. When he tells me someone is a born warrior, I tend to listen up."

"All right, then. Four percent it is."

"Done deal."

They cemented the contract with another handshake. "I'll swing 'round Migelo's tomorrow morning with your gold, and I'll prepare myself for this expedition you're going on. Ancient tombs crawling with monsters sounds like exactly the kind of thing I can wring a few hundred pages out of. Tell 'Fang' not to worry; I'll hire my own chocobo and everything."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: A Boy Travels**

The hot sun beat down on their heads as their chocobos raced through the barren desert across rare patches of desert cement and the grated catwalks of tall refinery platforms. The boy had never seen anything like the sandsea, a vast expanse of sand so fine and so loose that it ebbed and flowed like water but was completely, parchingly dry. They stopped and made camp for their first night on a patch of solid ground that marked the border between the Ogir-Yensa and the Nam-Yensa.

"You're awfully quiet, kid," Fang said as she gave the chocobos water. "You've been quiet for days. What's on your mind?"

"It's nothing," he said, but Oghren snorted.

"Kid's brooding 'cause he met a guy that told him he's dead."

"_What?"_

"I'm not dead," the boy said. "I _died. _In another world. Then I was reborn here from the Mist, but why I can't know for certain. That dream I told you about? It's all true, Fang. I _died."_

"Who told you that? Was it one of the Nu Mou, like I told you about?" she asked.

The boy shook his head. "It was a man named Lucius Malfoy. Kind of an oily character, but he seemed to know all about it. He said he'd been looking for people like me, because being a part of helping me toward my 'purpose' is a taste of immortality, whatever that means."

"Evidently the lad is touched by the gods, or one of them at any rate," Varric said, as he carefully cleaned sand out of the mechanism of his cleverly designed crossbow, which he called "Bianca." "I'd write a story about it, but no one would buy it. Too hokey."

"Kid, I…I don't know what to say," Fang said. "'I'm sorry' doesn't quite seem to go far enough."

The boy shrugged and scratched Odd's ears. "It's not so bad, really," he said. "It's not like it hurt or anything, and so far I'm not remembering anything _too _horrifying from my life before. I've mostly just started to remember a girl that was important to me. I can't remember her name or who she was to me, though. I guess if it looks like I've been brooding its because I'm trying to think of who she was."

Oghren chortled. "Oh ho! A _girl, _is it?"

The boy scowled at him. "It's not like _that_, so keep your dirty thoughts to yourself," he said. He thought for a moment and then shook his head. "I know that I loved her, but her name dances out of reach."

"What did she look like?" Varric asked.

"That's the funny thing about my memory. I see her in two different ways at the same time."

"What do you mean?" Fang asked.

"I see her at two separate ages. She's a grown woman and a little girl at the same time."

"You must have known her for a lot of years," Fang said.

"But what did she _look_ like?" Varric said. "Was she pretty?"

"I suppose so. She had blonde hair and big, blue eyes."

"I might get a story out of this, yet," Varric said. "The tragic tale of a love that transcends death itself. Add a romantic twist and readers'll buy any damned thing."

The boy frowned, but said nothing more about that. Instead he looked at Oghren. "I've remembered a bit more about my last battle, when I died," he said. "You were there, Oghren."

"The hell I was," Oghren said. "I've lived in Rabanastre 'most all my life."

The boy shrugged one shoulder. "You were there, regardless. I don't know how or why."

Fang dropped a loaf of hard bread, a slice of harder cheese, two apples, and a pile of jerky into his lap. She handed him a skin of water that had been kept cool in her pack by a piece of ice magicite. "Here; eat up. We've still got a lot of miles to cover in the morning."

Varric told them stories while they ate. The boy had to admit, the dwarf had a good line with bullshit and could spin quite a yarn. He wasn't entirely certain he was pleased to know he was going to become fodder for more of the storyteller's adventures. They all went to bed shortly after the last morsel of dinner was cleaned away, and the boy lay on his bedroll looking up at the clear night sky for a long time. The desert grew very cold at night, but he wasn't much bothered by it. At long last he slept, and when he slept he dreamt. He saw again the pretty child/woman's face, her bright clear eyes, her golden hair. She was speaking but he could not hear her voice. He strained to listen, to no avail. He got the impression that she was sad. The dream faded before he could determine why, or how to ease her sorrow.

In the morning they ate a hurried breakfast of bread and water, and mounted up for the ride across the Nam-Yensa. "Not much farther now," Fang said as she climbed aboard her black chocobo, a bird named Poison. Oghren grimaced as he laboriously clambered aboard the tall purple chocobo, Ogre. Varric's rented mount, a yellow chocobo named Maggie, stood patiently while her rider packed away his supplies. The boy checked the fit of the green chocobo Bond's bridle before mounting up himself. Odd frisked tirelessly and kept pace with the quick-stepping birds easily as they ran.

The Nam-Yensa had a slightly different feel to it than the Ogir-Yensa. More of it was solid ground, for one, and there were more native creatures. As they flashed through it on their swift avian steeds, the boy saw fat, rolling birds like cockatrices, but with brighter plumage. He wondered if they were as good for eating.

"Axebeak," Fang shouted back to him, when he asked her. "Even better than cockatrice meat. Eggs are better, too. Pretty shells, rainbow-colored. Dangerous, though, and hard to tame, or I'd raise me some myself."

They came at last to a tunnel leading into a high rock cliff face. "This should be the place," the boy said as they pulled their mounts to a stop. "I guess it's through there."

"I don't see any light in this tunnel," Varric said uneasily. "Are you sure that we have to turn off here?"

"That's what the map says."

"We'll follow it a ways," Fang said. "If it starts to fork or otherwise turn pear-shaped in there, we'll turn around and come back out."

"Why doesn't that plan comfort me?" Varric said. The boy gigged his chocobo forward.

"It'll be fine," he said, and led the way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: A Boy Becomes a Tomb Raider**

The tunnel was neither as deep nor as dark as it seemed. It made a sharp turn just past the influx of light from the entrance and around that bend was the exit, reassuringly close and bright. A small group of tents and one large canvas canopy over a pair of folding tables and camp chairs stood nearby, and Amelia Peabody, solar topee on her head, came forward to greet them.

"Thank the gods!" she said. "It's getting increasingly difficult to keep Emerson from charging off into the ruins. How soon can you start clearing them?"

"Let us take a quick breather, drink some water, and grab a bite of lunch," Fang said. "We can start directly after."

"Oh, of course, of course. I'll have my cook stew up an axebeak for you. He's quite good, believe me."

They penned and watered their chocobos and then settled in beneath the canopy to rest while the stew cooked. Workers scuttled about in strange fashion, and the boy couldn't help watching them. One passed near and Fang started in surprise.

"Your workers, Peabody - they're _Urutan-Yensa?"_

"What did you expect?" Amelia said. "Not many peoples are well-suited to work in the harsh conditions of the sandsea."

"But the Urutan, they hate _everybody. _They kill foreigners on sight."

"Stuff and nonsense. Some of my best friends are Urutan. You just have to make an effort to understand their culture."

Fang shrugged her head and swallowed a gulp of cold water from a skin.

The boy watched the workers more closely. He saw that beneath their ragged hoods and robes they had chitinous, crab-like faces and legs. It seemed an admirable evolutionary solution to the problems of desert heat and sand. Two days in the sandsea left him feeling so baked and grubby and so scoured raw that he wished _he_ had a shell.

A worker came bearing a great steaming tureen of axebeak stew. As they ate, a tall, muscular man with shirt unbuttoned strode up to them and stood with his hands fisted upon his hips, watching them. He had eyes like angry sapphires and a great deal of black, wavy hair. His skin was almost the color of baked brick from long days in the hot sun.

"You the hunters?" he said in a loud, irritated voice.

"Yes, Sir," Fang said. "You Emerson?"

"Yes, Madam."

"We'll take care of your fiend problem shortly," Fang said.

"See that you do, confound it. That bloody bird isn't going to keep me away from my tomb for very much longer."

"What bird?" the boy asked.

"Emerson speaks of the garuda-egi," Amelia said. "It's been attacking anyone who gets close to the tomb. The workers refuse to go near it, so we've been at something of an impasse right at the gate."

"Garuda-Egi, huh?" Oghren said. "Good eatin', that."

Odd barked; evidently he liked the sound of garuda meat, too.

"You're quite welcome to all the meat you can carry, if you can kill the bloody thing for us," Amelia said. "You'll have all the spoils from any other creatures you clear out, as well."

They finished their meal and prepared their equipment. The boy checked his homemade shortbow and found it sound. It fared far better in the intense heat and sun of the desert than he did.

"Everybody ready?" Fang asked. "All right then, let's go."

They walked out of the camp and through a long promenade of tall columns. The tomb lay ahead of them, gruesome in design with a giant face leering down at them from the roof. There was little time for sightseeing, however, since a high-pitched shriek heralded the arrival of the garuda-egi, which shone in the sun like a gate crystal. The boy sent an arrow into it as it swooped, which threw off its attack.

Odd leapt for the bird, and sank his jaws into one of its feet. The bird was strong enough to hold the huge dog off the ground, but not to fly away with him. Odd refused to relinquish his hold, and the great bird could not rise high into the air. This gave Fang and Oghren a perfect opportunity to strike with their melee weapons. They made short work of the creature. The otherworldly light of its skin faded in death.

"About bloody time," Emerson said. "Clear the rest of these damned fiends out on the double. I'll not lose another day's work over this."

They walked up the steps to the tomb entrance. There was no door, only an orange gate crystal and a strange device that looked like a short street lamp. "How do we get inside?" the boy asked.

Amelia, who followed behind, pointed to the device. "That is a teleporter. It will take you into the tomb's interior. You just have to be touching it when it is activated."

The boy looked at Odd. "You'd better stay out here, boy," he said. Odd whined, wagged his tail, licked his face, and went to gnaw on a wing of the fallen garuda.

The boy reached out to lay a hand on the device, but before he touched it he asked, "This thing is how old, now? I mean, how can we be certain it's still fully functional?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Fang said, and placed her hand on the teleporter. Oghren followed suit and with some evident misgivings, so too did Varric. The boy laid his hand down and Amelia reached over his shoulder and turned a knob on the top of the device. There was a whoosh, a flash of light, and the next thing the boy knew he was inside the dimly-lighted tomb.

"Now, I'll just follow along and make certain you don't destroy any important finds," Amelia said. "I brought my pad and pencils so I can make sketches of anything that must be moved or otherwise disturbed. This all must be done scientifically, you understand, or we lose the value of the site as an historical record."

"Who was this King Raithwall, anyway?" the boy asked.

"You mean you've never heard of the Dynast-King?" Amelia said. "Why, he is one of the most important historical figures of all time! He was the one who, twelve centuries ago, united all of Gran Pulse into one grand kingdom, and brought peace and prosperity to the land for ages."

"So why'd he build his tomb way out in the middle of nowhere, then?"

"Probably to protect his crypt, and the treasures contained within."

"Treasure, eh? Sounds like my kind a' place," Varric said.

"Now let's get one thing perfectly straight - there will be no looting, plundering, or pillaging of this tomb. All artifacts contained within are the property of Gran Pulse and will be catalogued, preserved, and perhaps eventually displayed by the Gran Pulse Historical Society. You will not walk out of this tomb carrying so much as a _pebble _unless I've personally examined and approved it." Amelia clapped her hands together, enrapt. "I can just picture it; a traveling exhibit of the wonders of King Raithwall's tomb, going from museum to museum to enrich and inform the lives of countless people!"

"But you don't even know for sure this _is_ Raithwall's tomb, right?" Fang asked.

"It's an educated hypothesis," Amelia said. "I'm sure we'll find some inscriptions _somewhere_ in this place."

She led the way down a short flight of stairs. They headed for a tall set of doors but a loud noise made them all turn around. With a horrific groan of stone grinding against stone, a great statue with a demonic aspect came to life and came crawling towards them, red eyes flashing and swords swinging. In only a moment it blocked their retreat. It was fight or run, with the possibility of being crushed or sliced into pieces between the choices. The boy ran toward it and drew his sword.

"Oh, I must get a sketch of it before it is destroyed!" Amelia said, and pulled out her sketch pad.

"I never thought I would have to kill a wall," the boy said as Fang and Oghren joined him in attacking the construct. _"How _do you kill a wall?"

"Beat the shit out of it 'til there's nothin' left but sand and gravel," Oghren said, and punctuated his words with a heavy blow of his greatsword that knocked one of the construct's arms off.

They had to act fast, or they'd find themselves crushed beneath the wall's steady advance. Varric's crossbow did little damage, but the cracks his bolts created gave the swords and lance fissures to exploit. Piece by piece, they knocked the wall apart. Finally, whatever force gave it life abandoned it, and all that remained, as Oghren said, was a pile of sand and gravel.

"_Blast it!"_ Amelia said. "This sketch looks nothing like it. Confound it all."

"Cheer up," Fang told her. "At least you're still alive."

"There is that, I suppose," Amelia said, not evincing much relief or gratitude. "Come on, then, let's go farther in."

The next room was pitch dark. The doors swung shut behind them, closing off all light. At the far end, a pair of red eyes flashed to life. There was the characteristic groan of stone on stone. A pair of torches at the far end of the long catwalk flared up, and illuminated a second demon wall identical to the first.

"Well, here's your chance to get a sketch of it, Ma'am," the boy said. Amelia ran forward and her pencil flew across the surface of her pad.

"I can't see - how many legs does it have?" she said.

"Doom advances upon us and she's worried how many legs it has," Fang said. "Have you got it, yet? We need to take this bugger down if you expect to go any deeper into this tomb."

"Just a moment…just a moment…and…done! Take it out!" Amelia said, with a flourish of pencil. The warriors ran forward and met the wall's advance. Now that they knew what they were doing, it took them very little time to pound the construct into submission.

"Tragic, that they could not be preserved," Amelia said, as she carefully stepped over the pile of rubble. "Perhaps we can piece them back together, later, but it won't be perfect. Ah, well."

"I guess it takes a special kind of crazy to be an archaeologist," the boy said, as he followed after.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: A Boy Meets an Esper**

The next area led them down a long flight of stone steps. Halfway down, they stopped to regard the two large creatures that awaited them on the landing.

"What are those things?" the boy asked. They looked like nothing he could ever remember having seen or heard described. They appeared to be white lizards, with heavy segmented shells that covered everything except their feet and long, slender tails.

"Calautidons," Oghren said. "Uh oh."

"What 'uh oh?'" the boy asked. "Bad news?"

"Yeah, sorta. You know those walls we took down?"

"Yes."

"Stone ain't half so tough as these buggers."

"Easier to tame 'em than kill 'em," Fang said, "an' it ain't easy to tame 'em. Come on, kid - no pain no gain, eh? Follow me."

"Okay, how do we do this?" the boy asked, as he descended the last steps behind her. "I don't exactly see a weak spot."

"Well, the gods are kind. They made these buggers just about impossible to kill, but they put the feral gland in an accessible spot. That's the good news."

"What's the _bad _news, then?"

"That spot is kinda tricky. Soft palate, on the roof of the mouth at the back. That means you gotta get 'em to open up wide. And the only reason they'll open up wide is to hit you with their breath attack."

"Fire?" the boy asked.

"Ice. Don't underestimate it: it'll do just as much damage as fire, if not more. We're bound to get hit, so if you think you can't take it tell me so now. It'll save _me_ some damage if I have someone on the other beast, is all."

"No pain no gain, eh?"

"Good boy."

As they approached the creatures their shells began to shiver with a rattling sound. "That's their warning," Fang said. "Telling us to back off. They'll attack soon."

"Nice of them to tell us so."

The shivering rattle grew more intense. Suddenly one of the calautidons charged, mouth open wide. Fang leaped forward and jammed the point of her lance deep into the open maw. Ice frosted her skin where the creature's breath struck, and in an instant she was blue and shivering. She kept up the pressure, however, and in a few seconds there was give and the creature stopped its attack.

"G-g-g-g-g-g-got it," she said, teeth chattering. "Y-you t-take the n-next one, k-k-k-kid."

The less aggressive calautidon was still making its shivering rattle. The boy moved toward it and saw its mouth open. He wished he had a lance like Fang's; with only a broadsword, he had to come in much closer to make his strike. He lunged forward, and the ice struck him. It was so cold it burned.

He couldn't let it stop him. He pressed on, and found his mark deep in the back of the giant mouth. There was resistance, almost as hard as stone, but he levered all his weight into it and the flesh gave way at last. The creature stopped attacking.

"Good job, kid," Fang said. "Take a moment, let's warm up."

"W-w-what do we d-d-do with 'em now we've g-got 'em?" the boy asked.

"We could just leave 'em here. Now they're tame, they won't bother anybody."

"Absolutely not!" Amelia said. "Their stomping about threatens countless artifacts! If you won't kill them then you must pack them out of here."

"Easier said than done. How do we get 'em to touch the teleporter?" Fang asked.

"Your problem. Make it happen."

Fang sighed. "Well, we'd better try. Can't have 'em following us about in here, destroying 'precious artifacts.'"

They tromped back to the entrance, and Amelia shook her fists at the calautidons as they ground the remains of the demon walls into powder beneath their heavy bodies. It took several tries, but eventually they managed to position the beasts so that they touched the ancient teleportation device and, one at a time, took them outside.

"What in the world are we going to do with these things?" the boy asked. "I can't stuff one of them into Migelo's storeroom."

"They can stay on my ranch," Fang said.

"But what are they good for?" the boy said. "You can't eat them, can you?"

"No, but they're good companion animals for certain types of big-game hunting. They draw your prey's attention while you take it down."

"That sounds…rather cruel, actually."

"Ha. Nothing short of an oretoise could crack those shells. Come on, let's get back to work before Emerson has a hemorrhage."

They returned to the interior of the tomb, and began systematically clearing the ruins of fiends. Most were garden-variety tomb-crawlers, bats of every description. There were also flans, mutant cockatrices, and the walking dead. It was an extensive ruin, and clearing both lower chambers took several hours. Finally they found themselves in the narthex of the burial chamber itself.

They took it for a statue at first. A great red beast, with a pair of massive, bestial arms and another pair of ordinary human arms. It had coiled horns, a broad, blank face, and its legs ended in enormous hooves. It remained at perfect attention as they approached, like an honor guard at a dignitary's graveside.

"The esper," Amelia said, in a reverent whisper. "Let me sketch it quickly before the battle. Then you can approach. I'll never be able to enter the burial chamber until the creature is defeated. Good luck!"

"We've got to _fight_ that thing?" Varric said.

"Mm, you don't _technically _have to be here at all, you know," Fang said. "You did kind of just invite yourself along, after all."

"Hey, I gotta protect my investment. And I thought it might make a good story."

They stepped forward. When they did, the creature stepped forward, swung its staff, and struck a fighting stance.

"Now or never," Fang said, and the three warriors rushed forward. Varric hung back, and his crossbow sang in its throaty voice.

It was a difficult battle. The boy quickly adopted the role of decoy, and kept the creature's attention as best he could while he defended himself against its attacks. Fang and Oghren, meanwhile, did everything they could to put the hurt on the esper. It was difficult to tell whether they were getting anywhere with it, for it did not bleed or otherwise react to the blows. Eventually, however, it became clear the creature was slowing down. Soon, it began to stagger.

Finally the beast left off attacking, and reeled back from the warriors. That was when Varric loosed another bolt from his crossbow, which struck the creature in the chest. The esper fell to one knee, a shimmering aura surrounded it, and in the next instant it transformed into a tiny, shining crystal. This crystal shot through the air straight for Varric, and struck him in the chest where the neckline of his tunic sagged open. The mark left behind appeared to be a softly glowing tattoo of tribal design.

"Well. Don't that just beat all?" Varric said.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Fourteen: A Question of Education**

The adventurers exited the ruin to a festival atmosphere. Emerson met them at the top of the tomb stairs. "I've had the cook fry up some of that garuda you killed," he said. "It's ready and waiting for you."

"Eats! I'm starved," Varric said.

"Me too," Oghren said. "I got dibs on the breast meat."

"A garuda's breast meat is enough to feed six people," Fang said.

"What can I say?" Oghren said, with one of his obscene little chuckles. "I'm a big breast man."

"Come and get it, ladies and gents, before it gets cold," Emerson said, and led the way back down the stairs to the archaeologists' camp. Some of the urutan workers had instruments, and weird, wailing music filled the twilight. The boy rather liked it, though it sounded very foreign to his ears. It fit the desert.

There was plenty of food. As he gnawed on a massive drumstick the boy thought about things that had preyed upon his mind for days. Finally, he spoke.

"Fang, what would you think if someone walked up to you out of the blue and offered to pay to send you to school?" he asked.

"I'd think they were throwing their money away. Why?"

"Lucius Malfoy offered to send me to some place called the Academy of Magic at Paddra," he said.

"Turn him down," Emerson said. "Modern education is worthless."

"Emerson, _you_ teach at AMAP," Amelia said.

"And it's a waste of my time. Modern students are worthless."

Amelia turned to the boy. "An education is a golden opportunity, my boy. AMAP is a fine institution. Don't listen to my husband. He's embittered because so much of his time is spent in the classroom when where he wants to be is here in the field."

"Kid, why didn't you mention this before?" Fang asked. "This is…_huge."_

"I had to spend some time thinking about it. The only thing I managed to decide for myself is that it feels hinky to me."

"Tuition at AMAP costs a bloody fortune," Fang said. "You couldn't pay for it yourself with a thousand big-ticket bounties."

"So I have it to understand," the boy said. "That's why I don't trust it. I mean, what's in it for him, really? He says helping me would be helping the gods, or some crap like that. I don't buy it. There's got to be more to it than that."

"I don't buy it, either, kid, but an education ain't easy to come by," Oghren said. "You won't get another opportunity like this."

"I'm surprised at you, Oghren," Fang said. "I certainly didn't expect _you_ to care so much about education."

"Hey, it opens doors. Even an idiot like me knows that. The kid's got brains, he could get a lot of good out of schoolin'."

Fang shrugged her shoulders. "Dwarf is right, kid. You've got brains and better still, you've got discipline. You'd do well in school. It would be good for you."

"I'd love to go, but I don't know about this guy Malfoy. I think he _is _the type who would consider this a down payment on my body and soul."

"What's the worst he could ask of you?" Fang said.

"I hesitate to think."

"Okay. What's the worst he could do _to_ you if you refused him?"

"He's rich and, presumably, powerful. Most likely, whatever the hell he wants to."

"Not if he truly is seeking the favor of the gods," Fang said. "Listen, kid - maybe where you come from, the gods don't take much hand in the way things work for people. Here, they interfere in our lives all the time. If you were truly brought here by one of them, then you're under their protection. That's powerful stuff."

"So you think I should take this guy's deal?"

"It's an awfully good opportunity."

The boy gnawed his garuda leg and thought for a bit. "It's hard for me to put myself in another man's pocket," he said at last.

"So I've noticed," Fang said. "You've got to do what feels right for you, kid, but this is quite the opportunity."

"I'll keep thinking about it," the boy said. "I would really like to go to school."

"Emerson, don't you still have a scholarship to award?" Amelia said.

"I do, but the boy would have to major in archaeology."

"What does that entail, exactly? I have no background education whatsoever, that I'm aware of."

"Which probably makes you the best scholarship candidate I could ask for," Emerson said. "Schools teach the most abominable nonsense: it's hell itself to retrain my students."

The big man walked out of the light of the campfire and returned in a few minutes with a handful of papers. He handed these to the boy. "Assuming you can read, these are the course requirements for my scholarship. Essentially, your focus would be on history. Archaeology is the practical pursuit of that history, and you'd have to study a great deal of science as well. Mathematics, chemistry…it's not the easiest course of study. It takes brains and it takes discipline. It also takes money. On my scholarship your books and tuition are paid for, but unless you can pay for your own living expenses you'll have to stay on-campus in the dorms. Not high living, like this Malfoy fellow can probably provide for you."

"I'd rather live in a rat hole than in Malfoy's back pocket. But why would you offer this scholarship to me? There have to be other candidates."

"Kid, every year I look for a bright spark in a wallow of idiots, and every year I'm stuck handing off my scholarship to some over-privileged bratling. I'd sooner see it go to someone like you, who actually _wants _an education."

"I do like the idea of the study of history…"

"Kid, the gods really _are_ looking out for you," Fang said. "Opportunities just drop into your lap."

"…But I don't know if I've got the brains to study science."

"Ninety percent of our students don't have the brains to study science," Emerson said. "Apply yourself and you'll do well enough, I'd imagine. You're smart enough, at the least, to know you're not the smartest person in the world, which puts you well above most of these young people."

"Your hunting should keep you in decent money for living expenses," Varric said. "Good hunting around Paddra, too. You might not have time for it during the school year, though."

"A lot of students manage to hold down jobs during the school year," Amelia said. "I don't see why you couldn't take the occasional bounty."

"You'll have to keep your grades high, though, or you'll lose your scholarship," Emerson said.

"I would never waste such an opportunity, Ser," the boy said. "If I get the chance at an education, I'm going to be top of the class, just as quickly as I can catch up."

"I'd believe him, Emerson," Fang said. "Kid is a strange duck, but he's got more drive than I've ever seen."

"I like drive. I'll work up the papers. Congratulations, young man - I don't even know your name, but I'm giving you a full scholarship. _Don't _let me down."

"I won't, Ser. You can bank on it," the boy said, and the firelight reflected in his night-darkened eyes like an internal flame.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fifteen: A Boy's First Flight**

The next weeks were busy ones for the boy. He put his unremembered past behind him in favor of the unrealized future, and every moment that he did not spend hunting marks for money he spent studying. He knew that he would soon be pitted against fellow students who all had previous education, while he had none that he could recall. But he also knew that he had lived an entire lifetime even if he could not remember much of it, and he thought he could use that to build a quick stock of basic knowledge before entering school. He bought books, hired tutors, and immersed himself in the world of academia, a world in which he felt entirely out of place, but still grateful for the entry.

"You've really got your nose to the grindstone, boy," Fang said to him, when she came upon him reading a book of biology in the Clan Hall. "Take it a little bit easier, or you'll burn yourself out before you even get to school."

"I can't take it easy, Fang," he said. "I've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Kid, you're whiter than you were when I first met you. You need to get out in the sunshine more."

"I am not of the mindset that believes it is entirely healthy to be burnt black by the sun, Fang."

"Well, then, think about the _money _you're missing out on. How are you going to be able to afford to live six months in Paddra if you spend all your bounties on books before you even get there?"

"I'll manage. I don't require a great deal of luxury."

"Maybe not, but there's a fact of life you're overlooking, kid."

"Oh? What's that?"

"_Girls, _young man. Girls like a degree at least of luxury."

"I'm not going to school to meet girls."

"But you will, and if you're as healthy as I think you are you'll fall for at least one of them. You've got to have a little extra spending coin."

"I can't afford to get distracted by girls," he said, but he said it doubtfully.

"You're a teenaged boy, whether you've been an eighty year old man or not. You're going to get distracted by girls. Here: I just picked up this bounty ticket, and I think it'd be perfect for you. One big score to lay some coin aside for a change. It's more monster than I'd consider most boys could handle, but you aren't most boys."

"I don't think I was as old as that," the boy said, but he took the ticket. "A ugallu? What's a ugallu?"

"It's a lot like your monster dog," Fang said, with a nod toward Odd. "Only bigger."

"It says its in the Yaschas Massif. Where is that?"

"Right around Paddra. You'll find a _lot _of bounties in that area."

"That's a long way to travel for a bounty. Why don't the Paddra hunters take care of it?"

"Because you're going to get it first. Come on, kid - it'll be good for you to get out and see a bit more of Gran Pulse. Educational, you might say. And you can take a look at Paddra while you're in the area."

"You're not coming with me?"

"I think it would be good for you to try a solo run. I have taken the liberty of booking you the next flight to Paddra; you can get some sleep on the airship and teleport back from the Paddra crystal when you're done with hunting and sightseeing. Your flight leaves in just over two hours so you better get to packing."

"Wow. Took quite a bit on yourself with this one, didn't you?" the boy said.

"You look like shit, kid. You need some sleep, and you need some exercise. Go get both, and come back ready to hit the books afresh. I want you to do _well_ in school, not self-destruct."

"Do I really look that bad?" the boy asked.

"Oh, not so bad, I suppose. For a raccoon, or maybe a zombie. Now get up, and get packed. You need to be at the aerodome at least half an hour before your flight."

"Am I really going to…_fly?" _the boy asked.

"You sure are. A word of warning, though: commercial aircraft are frequently attacked by a type of aevis called a Deathgaze. They're attracted to the energy given off by the glossair rings. The ships are built too sturdy for these critters to do much damage, but they can do a lot of damage to _you. _If one attacks, stay in the cabin. Do _not _engage, no matter what the reward is up to."

"There's a reward?" the boy said, and his eyes lit up. Fang sighed.

"I'm warning you, kid - for your own good. Just stay in the cabin."

"Can I take Odd on the airship?"

"They don't mind well-behaved animals aboard. Take your cactoid, too. His magic will be useful. Go, and have fun. I don't want your school year to be all work and no play, either. There's sports at AMAP, and hobbyist clubs. Sign up for something fun."

"I could probably take care of my registration while I'm at Paddra," the boy said. "I'm interested to see what classes I'll be in this year."

"There you go. Now get going."

The boy went back to Migelo's shop and packed his equipment and a couple of texts. He found himself a spot to sit in the aerodrome in plenty of time for his flight. When boarding was at last announced he shouldered his pack, whistled to Odd, and made his way to the gangway. He showed his ticket to the lady at the booth.

"Ah. Cabin 2E. The flight will take seven hours," she said.

"I'd have expected flying to be faster," he said.

The lady smiled. "It's a long way to Paddra, far across the plains, the steppe, and two mountain ranges. Commercial aircraft are designed more for comfort than speed."

"Do these aircraft ever just…fall out of the sky?"

"Our safety record is excellent, sir. There's nothing to fear."

"I'm not afraid. I'm looking forward to flying."

He boarded the airship, and a steward directed him to his seat. "Please remain seated during takeoff and landing. You are welcome to walk the decks during flight."

Odd crouched on the floor by his feet. The boy stayed put in his chair and wondered how long it would take to load all passengers and cargo. In half an hour's time, with the cabin at capacity, he heard a loud noise and felt a sudden, powerful surge of motion. The huge aircraft rose into the air.

At first it was quite exciting, and the boy ran from railing to railing on the open-air decks to stare at the world spread out below him. After a few hours, however, the excitement faded somewhat. Patches of the air, it seemed, were rather rough, and made the ship shiver and bump like a carriage rattling over ruts. It made him feel a little bit sick - a _lot _sick if he happened to be on deck when it happened - and he could neither study nor sleep in his chair in the cabin. He longed for the flight to be over.

There was a saloon in the airship, and the boy spent much of the flight there. He studied at the bar, with a cold, frothy drink he had become rather fond of that the natives of this world called a milkshake. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it was better than staying crammed in a chair designed for someone far smaller than he.

Six hours in, there was a loud double-thump and the ship shook as if it were passing through more rough air. A klaxon sounded, and a steward came into the saloon and proceeded to explain in a loud voice that everyone was to remain calm and inside the cabin. It didn't take much thinking to figure out what was happening.

"Is it a Deathgaze?" he asked.

"Yes. There is no cause for panic. The ship will take no serious damage."

The boy stood up and dug in his pack for his sword and shield. "I'll kill it for you," he said.

"Young man, that is a job for a professional hunter," the steward said.

"I _am_ a professional hunter. There's a reward, right?"

"A thousand galleons. But a Deathgaze is a powerful opponent. I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

The boy shrugged. "If it's too much for me I'll run and hide like the rest of you. I want to fight it - _anything_ to break the monotony of this flight. Come on, Odd, Prickles."

The boy, dog, and cactoid went out onto the deck. Now that there was work to be done, the boy scarcely noticed the way the creature's assault made the ship shudder and shake.

The aevis was on the upper deck, where it put good effort into attacking the big spinning glossair rings that held the ship aloft. Twice as tall as the werewolves he'd fought with Fang, the dragon-like creature registered as a powerful threat, but he relished the prospect of a good battle. He bounded up the last few steps at a run and launched himself at the creature's flank.

Fighting carried a strong sense of bone-deep familiarity and he knew now that in his past life he'd been a warrior of great renown. The creature turned to defend itself, and he smashed its snapping jaws aside with his shield. He kept the aevis's attention focused on him while his animals did the best they could do against the creature's thick carapace. His sword did far more damage than Prickles' needles or Odd's strong jaws.

It was like a dance. Bow and duck snapping teeth. One step forward and swing your blade. One step back and bring your shield up to block. Repeat the steps until at last your partner falls. It took some time, but eventually he wore the creature's hard shell down enough to strike a killing blow. The Deathgaze fell, and he proceeded to saw the carcass apart, thinking that the carapace might be worth a bit of extra coin.

As the ship had been silent for quite some time, a steward at last poked his head out from the cabin and crept cautiously up the stairs. The boy looked up from his grisly task long enough to grant the man a thin smile.

"By the gods, you actually killed that massive beast? By yourself?" the man said.

"They helped," the boy said, with a nod to Odd and Prickles.

"Well, that's quite the payday, lad. One thousand galleons."

"I guess that'll do," the boy said. "Now it doesn't matter if some other hunter gets to the ugallu before I do. How do I collect?"

"Front desk at the Paddra aerodrome. They might have to wire for the full amount, though. The Captain will write you out a warrant saying you took care of a Deathgaze for us."

"Thanks." The boy stood up and wiped blood from his face with his bandana. "Come on, Odd, I need to get cleaned up. Think Fang'll be mad at me?"

The dog whined.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But I think she'll be at least a little bit proud, too."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Sixteen: A Boy Meets a Giant**

Paddra was a very different city to Rabanastre, or any city the boy could remember having seen. The valley between the cliffs was narrow and there was little room for outward expansion, so the builders of Paddra took their buildings up rather than out, and some of the tall blocks of stone and glass challenged the very heavens themselves. It was very awe-inspiring at first, but it wasn't long before the boy found himself feeling rather closed-in and uncomfortable.

Wary of walking too far with a bag full of heavy gold coins stowed in his pack, the boy found a transportation stand and waited. A cabbie, driving a velocycle with a sidecar, pulled up and asked for his destination.

"AMAP?" the boy inquired.

"No problem. Climb in, if you've got money for the fare."

The boy took his place alongside Odd in the sidecar of the small flying machine. He'd seen such conveyances in Rabanastre, but they were rare there, for the desert sands clogged the mechanisms that powered them. He'd certainly never ridden in one, and the sudden lurch the machine gave as the cabbie drove on did not ease his apprehensions in the slightest.

The velocycle zipped at breakneck speed through the narrow, busy streets of the city, to the outskirts and up a narrow, winding mountain road that led to a high plateau. A massive building, that covered nearly as much ground as the city itself, stood proud atop the peak, with several massive towers on the scale of the broken Taejin's Tower at Oerba. The driver pulled to a stop in front of a gate.

"AMAP. Fare is thirty gil sixty, please."

The boy counted out the coins, and added in a gratuity. He gestured over his shoulder to the massive building. "That whole place is the school? Looks like you could put ten or twelve schools in there."

"AMAP is a big place. A lot of it is student housing. They come from all over the world to study here. There are also shops and restaurants. The academy is like a city in itself."

"Looks like it would be hard to get from place to place in there."

"There are automated walkways and escalators, from what I hear. The wealthier students use velocipedes, too."

"Thanks for the lift," the boy said, and the cabbie roared away. He turned and walked through the gate, and followed the signs to the administration offices.

"Can I help you?" the lady behind the reception desk asked.

"Uh, hello. I hope so. I'm inquiring after the status of my scholarship? Professor Emerson the Archaeologist is supposed to have given it to me."

"Name, please?"

"Maric fon Rabanastre."

"Ah, yes, here we go. Your scholarship is ready and waiting for you. Funny, it's usually hard to get Professor Emerson to choose a scholarship applicant. You must be something special. Would you like to set up an appointment with a guidance councilor to work out your class schedule?"

"Yes, please."

"Let's see…ah, yes. If you're free right now you can speak with Mr. Hagrid."

"Excellent."

"I'll announce you. Just follow the walkway to the fourth door on the left."

The walkway was a strange machine. It was not belt-driven, indeed the mechanism by which the path moved appeared to be nothing more than lights. Nevertheless the boy was swiftly shuttled along a long corridor the instant he stepped foot on it. It required some coordination to step off it again, and he nearly fell. He'd long since passed the fourth door on the left, and he sidled along the narrow stretch of solid, motionless floor between the wall and the walkway instead of taking the reverse path.

He knocked on the door. A gruff voice from inside called out, "Come on in." He opened the door and stepped into a mess. Files and papers were stacked everywhere, and there were animals on top of the stacks. Sleepy cait sith blinked at him, an owl hooted irritably from the shelf of a half-filled bookcase, a great black hound heaved itself off the floor and came to sniff noses with Odd. Behind the cluttered desk, in a chair that creaked and groaned ominously, sat the largest man the boy had ever seen, bushy haired and black-bearded, with black eyes that peered at him from beneath beetled brows.

"So yer Emerson's new boy, eh?" the giant said. Though the voice was gruff the eyes were kind. "Don't let 'im bully yeh. 'E talks big an' bad but 'e's an old softy at 'eart. Well. Yeh'll be needin' to pick yer classes, won't yeh? I can 'elp wi' that. Come on in, clear yerself a seat."

The boy moved a stack of files and discovered a small folding chair beneath. He seated himself gingerly and watched as the giant shuffled through papers, looking for something in the mess.

"Let's see…yeh'll need a full-time course schedule, an' there's a lot a' classes yer gonna hafta take for yer major, but yeh don't want too many tough lab classes at once or yeh'll drive yerself batty tryin' 'a keep up. Are there any electives yeh think yeh'd be interested in?"

"I don't know what's available," the boy said.

"Oh, we got all kinds a' classes. Let me get yeh a course catalogue."

Together, the boy and the giant paged through the thick catalogue, and check marked everything of interest. Odd curled up on the floor next to the black hound and took a nap. It took the better part of an hour, but eventually the boy had a full class schedule for his first semester, which included classes in history, a lecture and a lab course in archaeology, and a class in the language of the Urutan-Yensa. The giant was quite intrigued when he learned that the boy was a fellow Tamer, and signed him up immediately for his own class on magical creatures.

"Yeh'll like it, lad. I teach it out in the open. No stuffy classrooms for my course."

"That does sound like my kind of class."

The giant closed the catalogue and stood up. He was unable to stand up completely as the ceiling was not nearly high enough, and he remained bent almost double. "I've got some free time. How's about I show yeh around?"

"I'd like that, if it's not too much trouble. Seems like there's a lot of territory to learn."

"It ain't so hard once yeh get used to it. The only bad part is the moving walkways. Can barely keep my balance on 'em, an' they ain't nearly wide enough fer my feet."

"I had trouble with the one outside myself."

"Yeh'll probably get used to 'em. I never can."

They left the crowded office and rode the walkway into the heart of the school. Odd was the only one who seemed to have no trouble balancing on the swift light belt, the advantage of having four feet on the floor. The giant actually had to ride sideways, for he was entirely too broad for the walkway and would have ended up going in circles with one foot on the northbound path and the other on the southbound path.

"This is what they call the Hall of Commerce," the giant said, as they entered a long, broad corridor lined with darkened storefronts. "Most everything's closed for the summer but during the school term yeh can buy just about anything yeh need 'ere, though for the most part yeh can buy it cheaper in the city. I don't do much shoppin' 'ere, but I do like the Food Court, up ahead. Every kind a' food yeh can think of, from every culture. Only place to get genuine Viera-made creampuffs outside of Golmore Jungle. Let's get on this next belt 'ere an' I'll show yeh the History and Antiquities department, where yeh'll be spending most a' yer time."

The giant led him through various parts of the school, and pointed out classrooms and offices he'd need to know about. "There's Professor Emerson's office," he said, as they shot by on the moving walkway. "He ain't in now; out diggin' holes in the ground somewhere in the Nam-Yensa sandsea." Afterwards they explored the grounds.

"That's where they play choco-ball," the giant said, and pointed out a playing field with tall goal hoops at either end. "I never could play. Too big to ride."

The tour came to an end and the boy shook hands with the giant. "See yeh at the start of term," the big man said. The boy retrieved his hand from the trashcan lid-sized mitt and tipped a brief salute.

"Thank you, Ser, for all the help."

"Think nothin' of it. See yeh soon."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Seventeen: A Boy Makes a Stand**

It was quite late in the evening when the boy left AMAP, so he decided to take lodgings for the night and go hunting in the morning. He found a small inn at the base of the mountain and paid for a room and a hot dinner. The fare was very different to what he'd grown used to in Rabanastre, and he carefully chewed his way through a behemoth steak whose size rivaled its origins. Great spears of fried potato, called "steak fries," soaked in the juices and provided a tasty counterpoint to the meat. A salad of iron-rich greens completed the meal.

"Do people eat like this often in Paddra?" he asked the innkeeper as she brought him a second mug of dark, bitter "coffee," which was like tea with a hard kick.

"Behemoth steak? As often as the hunters bring 'em in, which ain't all that often. You hit it lucky tonight."

"Well, it was delicious, Ma'am. Thank you."

"You sure packed it away healthy. I like to see a boy with a good appetite."

"I missed taking meals today, so I was unusually hungry."

"You going to the school up the road this year?" she asked. He nodded.

"Registered for my classes today. I'm a little nervous about it."

"It's a pretty big deal, going to AMAP. Best of luck to yeh, lad."

"Thank you very much, Ma'am," he said, and sipped his coffee.

He prepared to spend a quiet evening over the texts he'd brought, but a step at the inn's front door brought his head up. Lucius Malfoy, in swishing black robes, strode purposefully in and dismissed the innkeeper with near-rudeness.

"Ah, young Maric. I thought I'd find you here," the man said. His steel-grey eyes were narrowed. "I understand you have won a scholarship. Congratulations. You…might have told me."

"I wasn't entirely certain until today that it was real. You obviously keep your ear to the ground."

"In my line of work, it pays."

The boy sat forward and placed his coffee mug on the table. "And what sort of payday are you expecting from me, Serah Malfoy?"

The man did not answer. He stood there, with a supercilious sneer on his lips for a moment, and then took a chair and sat down. "I found out a few things about you, if you're at all interested in learning them," he said.

"Oh, really? What did you find out?"

"By your idiom, and by what you told me of the manner in which you died, I was able to locate your probable origins. My best guess is that you hail from another dimension, one plagued by a particularly foul variety of creature known as a darkspawn. Sound familiar yet?"

"I know of darkspawn, yes."

"There was recently in this dimension what is called a 'Blight.' A particular type of dragon, corrupted by the darkspawn taint, leads the darkspawn in a massive assault on the surface world. This dragon can only be killed by something called a Grey Warden. If someone other than that ilk slays it, its soul travels to the nearest corrupted creature - a darkspawn - and the dragon is reborn. When the soul meets that of a Grey Warden, however, the dragon is killed. And so is the Warden."

"Just like in my dream."

"Just as in your _memory, _more like. It's really quite amazing. You are from not only the same dimension as the other Mist-born Maric, but from the same nation. Ferelden."

Something gave a lurch inside his chest. "I remember Ferelden," he said.

"Do you also remember your name? Your _true _name? For I know it, now. If you are the man who slew the most recent Blight-causing dragon, then your true name is Loghain Mac Tir. You are a great hero in your home world. _And_ a great villain."

The boy took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. "You don't say."

Lucius regarded him through narrow eyes. "You remember, don't you? You don't want to. You'd prefer to begin your life anew, with new choices, new chances. New mistakes. The weight of your past is a burden you'd happily throw aside, but you cannot. You cannot deny who you are, what you are. Your potential is writ in your past. You could do great things, or you could wreak catastrophes. Which is it to be, I wonder? Hero or villain?"

"Neither," the boy said, with an edge of confrontation in his voice. "I'm going to be an _archaeologist. _I'm not one hundred percent certain I understand what that is, yet, but it seems to me a worthy pursuit. Not one, however, that makes heroes _or _villains of men."

Lucius smiled thinly. "Whatever you wish to become, you will be what the gods desire to make of you."

"I'm no one's tool."

"We are all tools of the gods. We may rail against it if we wish, but it avails us nothing." The man suddenly sat up straighter and changed the course of his conversation. "You will require better outfitting than your poor scholarship can afford you."

He placed upon the tabletop a hefty bag. It spilled open, disclosing an immense amount of gold coins. The thousand Galleon prize tucked away in the boy's pack looked insignificant beside it.

The boy sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "I do not need your money," he said.

"You would prefer to live in squalor?"

"I would. But it will not be necessary. I have plenty of money to live on, and good work I can do to earn more. It is a kind offer, but I must refuse."

Lucius Malfoy still smiled, but he fairly seethed with repressed anger. "I beg you to reconsider. I can offer you so much more than merely money."

"I do not doubt it. But I will do without it. You seem to have learnt in some way all there is to know about me. Perhaps then you've learnt that I do things on my own, in my own way. I will not be reliant upon another man for food and comfort."

Lucius exhaled through his nose in a burst of air. He scooped up the spilled coins and returned the pouch to his robes. "Very well, if you insist," he said, tightly. And then, "My young ward wanted to come along. He is quite eager to meet you - or I should say, _reacquaint_ with you. I was tempted to bring him along, but I felt we had private matters to discuss, you and I."

"I believe our discussion has _ended, _don't you, Ser?"

"Indeed. Good luck to you, Mister Mac Tir. I do hope you do not come to regret your decision."

"I doubt it."

Lucius stood and stalked out of the inn at high speed. The boy sighed, gulped down his now-cold coffee, and went upstairs to his room. He hadn't slept in a bed since coming to Rabanastre, and despite the strength of the coffee was soon asleep. He did not dream.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Eighteen: A Boy and a Big City**

The boy woke in the early morning hours and lay staring up at the strange ceiling. He felt his spirits plummet to the very pit of his being, and it took some thinking to remember why. Then the conversation with Lucius Malfoy came back to his memory and he felt a thrill of anxiety. He knew his name, now, and he remembered what he'd done. He tried very hard, laying there, to forget it.

The morning sun crept through the crack between the curtains and he crossed his arms behind his head. He hadn't slept in a bed since…that other life. But there was no time for laziness, so he got up, bathed, dressed, and went downstairs to partake of the innkeeper's hearty breakfast. What she served tasted like ham, but he doubted that it came from anything resembling the pigs he remembered from Ferelden.

He paid up his bill and left to find the petitioner for the ugallu hunt. He followed the directions Fang had given him, and found the furriers whose proprietor wanted a ugallu pelt for a special order.

"Good morning, Ser. I'm here about the hunt you petitioned. Have I come too late?" he asked.

"No, my lad, no one's claimed the bounty," the proprietor said. "But are you sure you're…_experienced _enough for a hunt like this?"

"I've got quite a few hunts under my belt, Ser," he said, and showed the man his clan primer.

"_You _took down a Deathgaze? By the gods, boy, you're a hunter true enough. Well, if you can get me a ugallu pelt I'll happily pay you the bounty. You can find them on the massif, but watch out for the behemoths, boy. A Deathgaze alone is a tough battle, but the behemoths on the massif might gang up on you. Take it cautious, and don't get hurt. A fur coat ain't worth it, boy. Oh, and if you actually kill the thing, be careful skinning it. I'd rather have to work extra cleaning it than have you tear it."

"Don't worry, Ser; I have a lot of experience with skinning."

The boy shouldered his pack and headed out onto the massif. He saw the behemoths first, great beasts each almost the size of the Deathgaze. He could see why the Paddra hunters didn't bring in their meat often. Discretion was the better part of valor, and he gave the brutes a wide berth. There were other fiends, some strange flying creatures that looked like plants. He killed one and read his primer to learn about it. It was a triffid. He'd never heard of such a thing.

He got down to business tracking a ugallu, which he knew only as a larger version of Odd. The only thing he could suppose about it was that it had a nicer-looking coat, if someone would pay special to have the pelt made into one. He found some pug-marks that looked similar to Odd's, only much larger. They were fresh. He followed in the direction they led.

The creature, when he found it, was nearly twice the size of the thextera, and covered in spotted fur he supposed was quite handsome. It was an ugly creature regardless, with gigantic teeth in a slender maw. Odd launched himself to bite the creature's throat, Prickles filled its snout with needles, and the boy stabbed it in the chest beneath Odd's clamped jaws. He had to lean on his blade and drive it in to the hilt before the creature would fall.

He skinned the creature out and left the heavy carcass for the scavengers. He folded up the pelt and carried it back through the valley to the city and the furriers. The proprietor thanked him, paid him his bounty, and the boy left with his prize.

He contemplated going home - there was a gate crystal in the aerodrome - but he decided he could not leave without taking in more of the city, so he could tell Fang he'd seen it. He took a walk down a busy market thoroughfare and tried not to let the towering buildings give him vertigo.

He wasn't overly impressed with Paddra even after a closer look. It was crowded, the streets were congested with foot and motorized traffic, and the whole place had a cheap, glitzy veneer of bright lights and false promises. It was the sort of place, he felt, where one could buy a woman on one corner and a nobleman on the next. Not being in the market for either, there wasn't much to commend the place to him.

"Where you going, handsome?" a prostitute called out to him. He ignored her. This looked like one of the _nicer _routes in the city, and there were street-walkers plying their trade here. He supposed there was good business, with the school so close. The thought made him a trifle ill. He saw a high-end brothel and less than a street from it he found a house of worship with a number of gods depicted in its statuary. Sins and redemption within easy walking distance. The conveniences of a city.

He'd seen enough. He far preferred Rabanastre, where the sins were kept in dark corners instead of flaunted openly, and the city guard was a visible force instead of just a supposition. He returned to the aerodrome and took the gate crystal home.

He stopped in to Migelo's Sundries to check in with the proprietor.

"Ah, my boy," Migelo said. "How was your hunting trip? Did you get signed up for school?"

The boy told him the basics of his journey, not leaving out the part about the thousand-galleon reward for killing the Deathgaze. The old bangaa's eyes grew saucer-sized. "A thousand galleons? Odds bodkins, lad. You've got enough money now to buy a little place of your own, if such was your intention. Although, of course, you're welcome to stay here if you'd rather save up. All that money will come in handy with your schooling, and home ownership can suck up coin in a hurry."

"I think I'd rather save, for now. My books are paid for but I'm going to need a lot of lab equipment, and I want to get the best I can afford. Lodgings on-campus will suit me well enough, I expect. I have to say, while I'm looking forward to going to school, I'm going to miss Rabanastre. I've made a surprising number of friends, here, and I'll miss them. Then, too, I didn't much care for Paddra. I think it's a little too big for me."

"Paddra itself is a slum, and I'm glad the school is situated well away from it," Migelo said. "If you find you need some equipment during the year you buy whatever you need from the school stores and don't worry about the extra expense. I'd sooner wire you some extra gold than have you walking around the streets of that city."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary. I'll make certain I budget myself well."

"Well there's always a helping hand here if you need it, lad. Don't think you have to be completely self-sufficient."

"I know, Ser. Thank you."

He debated telling Migelo what he'd learned about himself in Paddra, the memories that had returned to him. He wasn't certain he could really even explain it all. But the man had the right to know.

"I thought you should know, Ser…I've remembered much about my past," he said. "I remember who I was, and my name."

"Why, that's wonderful, boy! But what do you mean, 'who you were?'" Migelo asked.

"I mean it literally, Ser. I…I've known for awhile, now, but didn't know how to tell you. I'm from another world. And in that world…I died. A man I met said the gods brought me here to serve some purpose of theirs, but I don't really understand it."

"You…you're sure of this?" Migelo asked. The boy nodded gravely. "Well, that's…quite the thing, isn't it? But, you said you remembered your true name. What is it?"

The boy blushed bright scarlet, as if he expected bad things to happen when he spoke. "Loghain Mac Tir."

"Loghain Mac Tir? Odd name, that, but strong, powerful. It suits you, lad. I suppose we should go to the city registrar and get your legal name changed to the proper one."

He didn't really want to be Loghain Mac Tir anymore, but what choice did he actually have? He was not Maric fon _anywhere, _and with what he'd done…he had no right to call himself by that name.

"Yes, Ser, I expect we ought to. It isn't right to go around by a name that doesn't belong to you."

"Not when you know what name does. We'll go in the morning, all right, lad? Tonight I'm sure you want to run by that Hunt Club of yours and tell your friends of your adventures. You…you really…_died? _That's terrible, lad. You're so young."

The boy shook his head. "I wasn't, though. I was an old man. I had a daughter…Anora, her name was. And I…I did terrible things. I think it is only fair to warn you, Ser. I'm not what you think of me."

"What terrible things?" Migelo's ears were perked for bad news.

The boy told him everything. He told him about the darkspawn, the battle of Ostagar, the ignominious retreat. The betrayal. He told him of the Grey Wardens and the civil war. Of the slavers he'd set in the alienage. Of how his fear and doubt had nearly ripped his beloved homeland to shreds. Migelo was silent for a long time after this speech, the most words he'd ever heard the boy utter at one time.

"Well, that's…quite the tale, lad. You did some terrible things, I won't deny it. But are you certain you were in the wrong?"

"Not entirely. Certainly I was wrong many times, but given what I knew, and what I feared…I'm not certain I could have responded another way. I stripped away what remained of my soul, but it was a sacrifice I thought I had to make for the greater good. I…I wasn't cut out for anything more than swinging a sword, I guess. I couldn't think past the end of my blade. Another man could have found a better way to manage it all, but I didn't trust any other man well enough to give them the chance."

"Maybe…maybe the gods are giving you a second chance, my lad," Migelo said. "A second chance to make things right."

"I'll be happy if I can just avoid the mistakes I made before. I don't want to go through anything like that again. I don't want to hurt anyone, ever again."


End file.
